


Learning To Live In A Strange Land

by Kotik



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, Romance, Taboo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotik/pseuds/Kotik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother and son have to rebuild their lives after escaping an oppressive regime</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting all over again

**Lydia**

We’d only been apart for little over two months, but it felt as if we hadn’t seen each other for ages, especially as his birthday had been within that time, and I knew that it must have hurt him that his mommy was missing from that most important day of the year for all kids.

What might seem like a horrible mother to an outside party is I, Lydia Karrass, a twenty-five-year-old, born in February 1960, who’d just fled communist East Germany for the freedom of the west. The plan had almost failed before it began, because it meant that I had to leave my beloved son behind.

Mark was actually an accident and a very early one at that, but he was also the best accident I’d ever had, because he was the light in my otherwise not exactly easy life.

In the summer of 1973, during a summer holiday at the Baltic sea, thirteen-year-old, gullible me got it into my juvenile head that I was in love with my teenage summer romance Frank, a fourteen-year-old, who was just as green behind the ears as I was. I ended up losing my virginity at age thirteen in the worst sexual encounter two people had ever had. I bled like a stuck pig and he came within two minutes. I could just a well have reclaimed my virginity on technical grounds. Except for the fact that the clumsiest sex in the history of mankind had been successful in perpetuating the species.

Frank never got to know that he conceived a son. But he was sure as hell aware of the possibility. When he realized we hadn’t used any protection, he just panicked and ran away. I don’t know what he had told his parents, but it certainly wasn’t the truth. The next morning his family left and I never heard of him again. Trying to find him was pointless as I didn’t even know his surname and finding the one Frank among sixteen million East Germans would have made playing the lottery look like a safe investment.

Even as a single mother I wouldn’t face any problems. Social welfare was the one thing that actually worked in East Germany, but my family was the big problem. My parents were both hard-liners, apparatchiks in the worst sense of the word. They disowned me on the spot, even before Mark was born, and most of the family followed their example for fear of political oppression. The only ones, who refused to abandon a thirteen-year-old girl were my grandparents and my younger sister Beatrice.

 I would probably have suffered my fair share of censure from the authorities if it wasn’t for the fact that I was one of the country’s top-talents in track and field. At age twelve I’d been spotted by a talent scout and immediately drafted into one of the _Kinder- und Jugendsportschulen,_ which were normal schools, but with sports drills in every waking minute, grooming the talents that would later win medals over medals to prove the superiority of socialism.

Mark was born in March 1974, exactly twenty days after my own fourteenth birthday, and just six weeks later I was back in training. My grandparents took care of him during the day, but I took the one-hour train ride home every day to be with my baby. Grandma Aurelia would often time the feeding in a way that he was hungry just as I came home, so he would get some genuine breast-milk instead of the artificial formula.

Being just fourteen my boobs had barely started to grow out of my chest and I was not producing enough milk, but it was usually enough for an evening and a night feeding. Often granny would already be waiting for me to storm in and rip my shirt of, so that my upset baby could latch on to his mommy, emptying my burgeoning apices with an urgency that made a vacuum cleaner look like a lame invention.

He grew up to be the light of my life, and from young age he had gotten it into his head that he was the man in the house. Not in the way that he wouldn’t obey me, no. By the time he was eight he would always wait for me at the bus station, insisting on escorting me home and carrying my sports bag. In the evening he would massage my tortured feet while we watched TV. I never had to tell him to do house chores. By the time I came home from training the dishes were cleaned, the trash was taken outside. He was much more independent than your average eight-year-old.

Things deteriorated in 1984. I was supposed to be part of the Olympic team, but most of the eastern bloc states boycotted Los Angeles, including East Germany. I was gutted. On top of that I was put under more and more pressure to get on the state-run medical program, a euphemism for the extensive doping program in East German sports. At age twenty-four, which is fairly young for a marathon runner, I was good for the occasional top ten finish, but to get this little bit further ahead, I would have to morph into an African or get on the same ‘roids, EPO, hormones and whatever else those Russians, Americans, West Germans, Chinese and my East German team mates were messing their bodies up with. If you see a female team mate shave her face in the morning, you just know it is nothing you want to take. But the pressure was mounting. I was about to lose all privileges, like getting to travel all over the world, if my results wouldn’t improve. And that wasn’t possible without doping.

In the end I seemingly caved in. I made a deal with the medical staff. There was an upcoming half-marathon in Stuttgart on March 1st 1985\. If I would not finish on the podium, I would willingly submit myself to their program.

Except that I had no intention to honor that dirty deal. Since pensioners were allowed to travel to West Germany, grandpa had visited his brother, who lived in Hilden. They traveled to Stuttgart and found out the route of the race. The reconnaissance information he brought back was that we’d pass a police station at kilometer 9.8, ideal to flee into and request asylum.

The hardest decision was to leave my beloved son Mark behind. Close family members were not allowed to travel with us. It was East Germany’s cruel way of making sure we’d come back. But I had done my homework. During the seventies a treaty had been signed between the two German states that whoever ended up in the other German state, the immediate family had to be released to join them, no matter how that change of position had been achieved. Not even East Germany was cynical enough to go against that treaty in the case of an internationally known athlete.

Knowing that I wouldn’t run more than 9.8 kilometers, I started with the pace normally reserved for 10.000-meter track runs. The Kenyans must have thought I was out of my mind, and didn’t even try to follow my murderous pace – just how I wanted it. Those bastards back home were able to see me flee to West Germany live on TV and from the lead of the race. At kilometer 9.8 I veered sharply left, hopped over the barrier that separated the track and the spectators, and ran into the police station. I had made it.

That’s how I came to miss Mark’s eleventh birthday, taking solace in the fact that my eighteen-year-old sister Bea would be with him that day, trying her best to stand in for his missing mommy, but my heart still ached, knowing that he had probably spent most of the day crying in Bea’s arms.

And finally the day came – in early June 1985. The political tug-of-war between Germany and Germany had gone on for over two months, but now I was pacing the arrival area at Hamburg Fuhlsbüttel airport like a caged animal, waiting for the flight from West Berlin to arrive.

I died a thousand deaths every time someone exited the gate and it wasn’t my son, but then, finally, I saw him. A flight-attendant held him by the hand as he walked out with his oversized duffel bag that was way too big for him. The whole world faded out as all I could see was my baby, standing still, his bottom lip quivering in a desperate attempt to be manlier than you can expect from an eleven-year-old.

I suspect I was doing a pretty good impression of Lot’s wife myself, standing paralyzed with tears running down my face. Finally he dropped the large bag and came running towards me and for what seemed like an eternity the two of us stood in the middle of Hamburg airport, hugging each other desperately while we both cried helplessly until there were no more tears left to shed.

**Mark**

I had never thought I’d ever see the West. Suddenly, when mom sent me to buy groceries, I wouldn’t come back with half the list missing because it was sold out, like was normal in the East. When I went to the shops to buy milk, I knew there would be milk and even several different brands and types to choose from.

Suddenly I could see all the things that I only knew from watching commercials on West German TV, that we had been able to watch in the East as well. Suddenly I could taste all the stuff that had seemed more mythical than real so far. This state of amazement persisted for almost a year, but in the end it wasn’t able to mask that we didn’t really find our footing.

The people were different. In a system where everyone had to fend for himself, it simply didn’t happen that neighbors would just invite you over for a barbecue, like it had been custom in the East. No, most of them didn’t speak much more than polite greetings when we encountered each other.

In late 1985 Aunt Bea had been released to the West as well, so I would at least no longer need to be attended to by a nanny, whenever mom was having competitions abroad, but the fact of the matter was, we were even more dependent on each other than ever before, living in our little bubble, just the three of us.

Being the only male in the house, I tried to fill in the role that any boyfriend of mom or Bea would have, if there had been any. I knew mom had dated a few men, but nothing ever came of it, and years later I would find out why. Having had me at only fourteen years, mom had become way more independent than most men appreciated. Many of the guys couldn’t deal with being the man at the side of a successful woman, who doesn’t think her place is in the kitchen.

Aunt Bea, will never bring a boyfriend home, because she likes girls. For her coming to the West had probably been the biggest change as, unbelievable as it sounds, the communist part of Germany had been much more relaxed on the topic of two women or two men loving each other.

For me things weren’t exactly easy either. I never was one of the popular kids anyway, often keeping to myself and now in the west I was a curiosity on top of that – the poor kid from the East. People weren’t bullying me. For that too many people knew that we hadn’t exactly fled a holiday region. But nobody didn’t go out of their way to get to know me either, so I spent the last three years of middle school largely without friends, spending my days on the beach drawing and painting.

Our lives were turned upside down again in August 1987 when one day I was called to the Principal’s office where I was met by a policeman and a completely panicked Aunt Bea. I think the policeman had to explain it to me three times until my thirteen-year-old brain could process that he was trying to explain to me that mom was in the hospital, being treated for light injuries she had sustained fending off an abduction attempt with a help of a boxer from her sports club she happened to walk home with.

Later in the hospital, I think mom was the most collected of us three. Bea was completely beside herself. I was a bit better, but my attempts at being manlier than my thirteen years accounted for, were only partially successful. The thought that the East German secret service Stasi had tried to kidnap my mother to bring her back to the East for punishment for her flight two and a half years earlier had overwhelmed what your average thirteen-year-old can take when his mommy is threatened.

What that sort of punishment would most likely look like, was demonstrated by the Stasi in 1983 when they made an example of Lutz Eigendorf, who like mom, was a high-profile athlete, a footballer, who had fled to the West. After a failed kidnapping attempt, the Stasi had murdered him in a staged car accident.

That meant we had a good idea what kind of punishment mom was in for and unsurprisingly, we soon found ourselves being visited by two men, who introduced themselves as an agent of the West German secret service BND and the American counterpart CIA. Back home in the east we’d always been told that the CIA were the evil incarnate, but somehow the slim middle-age man with his blond hair and soft-spoken, accented German did not exactly instill fear in me.

Since mom’s safety could not be guaranteed indefinitely in West Germany, we were told that within the next year we’d be emigrating to the United States. The Stasi was ruthless, but they weren’t idiots. Going after mom in the States would have been a suicide commando, as not even the Soviets would dare cover their asses in an operation against US citizens.

I would be finishing middle school in a heavily secured government school, while for mom it meant that she had to take a one year break from any competitions. That meant the Seoul Olympics in 1988 would be the second ones she missed due to being caught in the political wrangling of the cold war. 

**Lydia**

When I was shaken awake on that day in late May 1988, the small government-owned business jet was already on approach to Burbank, where we were scheduled to be met by someone from the German consulate in Los Angeles.

With all the routine of an international athlete I had slept through most of the flight, but I felt immediately guilty, when I noticed that in my sleep I had leaned on my son, whose tired features left no doubt that he had been awake all the time. Ever the young gentleman he had not only accepted the additional weight on his shoulder. He had put his arm around me holding me steady for hours. He was smiling at me despite his obvious exhaustion and anxiety. I gave him a little kiss on the lips and he looked the other way in an attempt to hide his blush.

I knew that he liked getting those small pecks from mommy, but at fourteen he was ‘becoming a man’ now, at least in his own mind. As such he could of course never admit to something like relishing a kiss from his mother, so he hid his guilty pleasure behind the fact that the chaste good-night kiss from mommy had always been part of his night-time preparation. He would probably blush a deep shade of crimson if I reminded him of his infantile fantasy at age eight when he was still dead set on marrying me when he was old enough.

But those momentary thoughts of motherly love were soon put back when I remembered what I was putting my baby through. For the second time in his young life he had had to leave everything behind to start from scratch all over again in a country that was as alien to him as outer Mongolia. For me this wouldn’t be the first visit to the States, having run the Boston marathon twice – once for the G.D.R. and once for West Germany. But at least Mark would have the language advantage. We’d both been put through a crash-course in English, but he was much better at it than I. No matter how hard I tried, I always failed to get rid of my German accent.

If I should ever decide to search for Mark’s father, I’d probably better start in academic circles. I was utterly mediocre at school, and so was every ancestor of mine I knew of, so Mark’s brilliant brains must have come from his father’s side. And no matter how stupid it had been to give up my virginity at thirteen to a boy I barely knew, I must have stumbled on one of the finest specimen of homo sapiens as my baby was also blessed with good looks.

His skin was smooth, his facial features manly but not rugged, all dominated by his brilliantly clear blue eyes and a short mop of dark hair. He wasn’t exactly a sporting ace. He jogged along sometimes when I was warming down after training, but that was as far as any physical activities went, but he was nonetheless well-built; not a body-builder, but despite his healthy appetite there wasn’t any fat on his young frame.

The firm touchdown of the plane rattled me out of my musings about my baby boy. We had arrived in our new home – California.

 

 

**Mark**

If I learned one thing about the U.S. of A. pretty quickly, it was the fact that everything was huge. The country was huge, the buildings were huge, and so were some of the people we encountered. I had never seen such ridiculously fat people before, but that mystery was pretty much explained when I had been to a McDonald’s for the first time. I had done that before in those few years in West Germany, but ordering a big coke over here meant you had to carry a whole bucket of the stuff back to your table and it tasted like someone had dumped a whole bag of sugar into a glass of dark-colored water. It may be one of the great American symbols, but I could never quite muster the patriotism to acquire the taste.

Thank the heavens for the Bachlmayers, an elderly pair of Bavarians, who had emigrated to the States in the fifties. Not only had they helped us find our footing in the new surroundings, they were also running a German restaurant and a small shop specializing in German foodstuffs. It was of course more expensive than buying at the likes of Wal-Mart, but neither mom nor I could really warm to the American cuisine. I suppose the fact that we hadn’t left Germany entirely voluntarily made us hold on to every bit that reminded us of our roots.   

I had expected to feel even more lost than during those three years in West Germany, but to my surprise, I found life in America not half bad and the surroundings had a lot to do with that.

First of all, the Californian climate was nothing short of paradisiac for a German. Seriously, up to twenty degrees centigrade in December. We used to call that summer back in Europe.

And then there was our house in Pasadena – oh my gosh. Back in East Germany you would have had to be a high-ranking communist party official just to own enough land to build something that size. It was a two-story dream of a home and we didn’t even have any debt on it. It had all been paid for by a West German government fund created to help politically oppressed people. Mom’s starting and prize money and a small advertising contract with a local business in downtown Pasadena wasn’t paying a lot of money, but she made sure to donate at least two-hundred dollars back to the fund every month, even if it wasn’t required. We both knew what they had done for us.

If you wonder where Aunt Bea is, well, she had stayed behind in Germany, keeping our small flat back in Lübeck. Adamant that she wasn’t the target the Stasi was looking for, she chose to stay in her familiar surroundings. Besides that, she had met a new girlfriend in 1987.

Being fourteen, I had arrived just in time to start high school. Unlike back in West Germany, I wasn’t an oddity around here; I was downright exotic. It sounds hard to believe, but some people hadn’t even known that there were two German states. But at least my exotic background made me interesting enough to garner the interest of other people and I had even made a few friends. For the first time since 1984 I felt like my life was getting better again, but, like always, complications were just around the corner.

 

 

**Lydia**

It was one of those bright, sunny and ridiculously warm October days that reminded me of the fact that we were definitely no longer in Germany. I was standing in front of the stove, checking my pots, making sure that Mark’s favorite piece of mom’s cooking would come out the way it was supposed to.

The door flew open.

“Hi Mrs. K!” I was greeted cheerily and it was a good thing I had anticipated the arrival of an unplanned guest.

“Hi Jonjo,” I replied.

Of course, coming home in the company of his best friend, my ‘growing up’ fourteen-year-old son would not be seen planting his customary kiss on my cheek, but I knew he was going to make up for it with an extra-long hug after his goodnight-kiss, when nobody would be around to know about that blot on his white vest of manliness. 

Jonjo Ross, the new best friend of Mark was a fourteen-year-old fellow high school freshman and the son of Jamaican immigrants. Jonjo definitely looked the part. First signs of facial fluff styled to resemble a Bob-Marley-beard, dark skin, Rasta locks and a garishly colored woolen cap. Having been born in the states, he lacked the thick Creole accent of his parents, but pride of his ancestry made him add the word ‘man’ to every other sentence and he pronounced it ‘munn’. Since he wasn’t able to pronounce Karrass right, I was just ‘Mrs. K’ to him and I gladly accepted that appellation. It definitely beat being called ‘Mrs. Caress’.

“Hi mum, I invited Jonjo along for lunch. That okay?” my son asked, knowing all too well that it was a little bit too late to ask my acceptance after already presenting the guest. I just smiled and nodded.

I didn’t really mind feeding Jonjo. I liked him and his parents. The Ross family lived just a few houses down the street and I knew I could leave Mark in the care of Jonjo’s parents when I would resume my competitive running.

“You runnin’ again, Mrs K?” he asked me coming back from the bathroom after washing his hands.

I nodded and smiled at him. “I’m starting in Vancouver in two weeks. First race in more than a year.”

“Too bad you missed the Olympics, man,” he mused. “I bet you are better than this Katrin Dorre girl, who won the Bronze medal. And you’re definitely better lookin’.”

“Roger that,” my son confirmed.

“Why, thank you,” I acknowledged the double-pronged compliment, concentrating on my pots to prevent them from seeing the momentary slight blush I must have been wearing. “Katrin only started competing the year we left East Germany and she was at a different club than I. She ran a two-hour twenty-six. I’ve done better than that only four times so far. But it’s good to know that my fan club is believing in me.”

They both grinned when I looked back at them.

“What’s cooking, mom?” Mark asked.

“ _Königsberger Klopse,”_ I replied and both their faces lit up like Christmas trees. It was their favorite.

“Man, that’s the one with the cooked meat balls, isn’t it?” Jonjo asked his friend and whooped and cheered when his inquiry was answered in the affirmative.

Mark had tried to teach Jonjo the pronunciation of their favorite German dish, but considering that the poor boy was stymied by our family name, the success had been foreseeably limited. But that didn’t prevent my son’s friend from properly enjoying my cooking and properly complimenting me for it.

When the two ravenous three-headed dragons were well-fed and I’d been declared a ten-star cook by both of them they took their leave to do their homework at Jonjo’s place.

After washing the dishes, I went to my bedroom and got rid of my clothes to catch some sunlight while the boys were out. I wasn’t really concerned to be seen naked by Mark – we’ve been to nude beaches all our lives. But I had quickly noticed that Americans were a whole lot more concerned about things like children seeing their parents without clothing, so I didn’t want to creep out Jonjo’s parents by being seen by him.

The sunbathing was necessary in a way. I was an outdoor athlete and the daily training in the sunny Californian climate quickly gave me a dark tan, except of course where the two-piece track and field suit covered the precious bits. The stark difference in skin color looked simply ridiculous, so I often spent three to four hours roasting my myself in the back yard when Mark was in school or toiling about the neighborhood with his friends.

Except for bringing Jonjo unannounced for lunch once in a while, Mark never brought any friends without notifying me beforehand, knowing what I often spent my afternoons doing. Having that security allowed me to relax and dozing off after a hard training wasn’t uncommon. Mark was used to seeing me naked and wouldn’t mind.

 

 

**Mark**

Except that it was no longer true as of that very day.

On the way back from Jonjo’s place I picked up a couple of items from the Bachlmayer’s German store and when I walked in, I could see mom sleep on a deck chair next to the pool. I stored away the loot of my shopping trip, grabbed a bottle of Cola and went outside.

It was a well-established routine. Mom wanted to get rid of her tan lines and often spent the afternoon sunbathing naked in the backyard. Often she fell asleep and I checked that she wouldn’t burn herself.

When I sat down at the small camping table, I could see that her skin was still glistening with a fresh layer of sun cream, so she couldn’t have been sleeping more than perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes and there was no danger of her catching sunburn. This being October, the sun would be gone in about two hours anyway.

For reasons I only understood months later, I ended up taking a really good look at my mom’s naked body. It was a sight I’d seen so many times before, but even though my fourteen-year-old mind wasn’t yet able to comprehend why, that day I looked at her with different eyes. Perhaps it was Jonjo’s earlier comment about mom’s good looks.

Being a competitive athlete, mom had not a single gram of superfluous fat on her body. In fact she was almost on the skinny side – a 57kg flea of 1.70 meters height. Seeing her slim frame, I couldn’t believe I’d once grown inside that petite body. The effect was emphasized by the fact that she didn’t have wide hips like other women. At 1.74 meters at the time, I think even my hips were wider than mom’s.

Nobody except me did usually see her without clothes, but even with full attire we were often mistaken for brother and sister, mainly because I proudly sported my sparse moustache, making me look a year or two older and mom was looking younger than she was. And then there was of course the fact that there was only a fourteen-year age difference to begin with.

Having ditched the frock, I noticed, mom looked even younger. She didn’t have big breasts, but as I noticed for the first time that day, they were utterly perfect – firm, well-shaped orbs with little pale-pink nipples on top. I supposed I could easily cup one of her breasts using both my hands. Not that I ever tried, but in retrospect I recognize that very day as the first time I ever fantasized about it. With their perfect shape and firmness, they looked more like breasts I’d seen on much younger women on nude beaches in Germany, which was not meant to say that at twenty-eight mom was old in any way. She wrecked the age-average at every parent-teacher conference.

Another aspect of her youthful appearance was the fact that mom had no pubic hair. I would only learn much later that she was a regular recipient of a Brazilian wax, because any hair down there would have caused skin irritation inside those ridiculously tight pants of her track and field gear.

When I returned to the here and now after ogling my naked mom, I noticed I had a raging hard-on, something that had never happened looking at her before. Ashamed of and shocked by the forbidden arousal I fled to the sanctity of my room where I proceeded to masturbate over the forbidden image of my super-sexy naked mom.

 

**Lydia**

 

Something was definitely wrong with my son. Spring of the year 1989 had just arrived, Mark was fifteen now, and the temperatures had risen just high enough to resume ridding myself of those damn tan lines, but Mark’s behavior had definitely changed.

He still checked on me, making sure I wouldn’t burn myself in case I nodded off, but in the case of me being awake, he no longer stayed for the customary chat about his day. Instead after checking that I was okay, he went back in and holed himself up in his room.

Considering where we came from, a state that was obsessed with supervising its own citizens using the omnipresent Stasi, I afforded him the maximum amount of privacy, but his strange behavior was worrying me more and more, especially as he had completely abandoned his so cherished habit of collecting a goodnight-kiss from his mommy.

It might sound silly to some, but that worried me. He had always been very close to me and no longer allowing any close contact was beyond his puberty-induced striving for a sense of manliness. He was still the caring and trouble-free son he’d always been, but I’d gotten more compliments from Jonjo lately than from him and Mark had always reacted somewhat strange, almost angry, to his friend’s playful attempts at smooth-talking me.

When his class went on a three-day field-trip, I committed the ultimate violation of privacy and searched his room, but I was completely unprepared for what I was about to find.

Mark was incredibly gifted, academically. He was in his freshman year at the high school, taking lessons in a language that wasn’t his native one, but the worst I’d ever seen on his report card was an A- in English. Despite his aspirations to become an artist one day, he was still interested in scientific matters and very partial to a book called _Weltall, Erde, Mensch_ a large book of popular science that I had received as a gift for my _Jugendweihe_ , the non-religious counterpart in the East German system to Christian confirmation.

When I took it off his shelf a dozen of loose sheets fell out and I nearly fainted when I looked at them. Most of them were pencil drawings, and they all showed me, stark naked. There was mom running through the finish-line ribbon, sitting at the beach, cooking, cuddling with him on the couch – and there wasn’t a stich on me in any of those picture. Any my god, he had made me look like a goddess. I knew he was talented, but I had never posed in any of the postures he’d drawn me in – and they all looked so life-like it took my breath away. I actually got a bit aroused by looking at myself through the eyes of my own son. It was so utterly wrong that my own son would feel like that about me, but it also felt so right. I tried to flee his room after this disturbing discovery, but it was as if some invisible force tied me in place, forced me to look at all the sheets of paper and I was in for the surprise of my life.

The last sheet wasn’t a drawing. It was a text written in a handwriting, I could tell had taken ages to produce this neatly. It started out with “My beloved mommy,” and to my utter shock it turned out to be the most yearning and romantic love-letter I’ve ever read and it was penned by my own son, addressed to me that left me in tears of emotion, but also horrified at the taboo these words represented. My own flesh and blood was declaring his undying love for me. 


	2. Burying My Hopes

**Mark**

Something was definitely wrong with mom.  Her return to competition was an utter disaster. She seemed distracted and missed the decisive acceleration of the favorites group, finishing somewhere in the lower top twenty. That might sound like a decent result, but for mom’s standards it was at least ten positions too far back from where she could have finished.

Even though I was still a hormone-controlled pubescent teenager with little experience in live, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice that I had probably something to do with it. Had she realized how my feelings for her had changed?

I couldn’t believe that she would miss our goodnight-kiss. It had been a daily ritual since I was old enough to walk on my own, but she’d been away for competitions often enough to know that the world would go on and, seriously, at fifteen I was getting too old for such childish stuff.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t skip down to the living room for the nightly smooch anymore, because I knew I’d probably be unable to withstand the urge to shove my tongue in her mouth, even though I didn’t have the first idea about French-kissing, other than what class-mates bragged about in school. All I could think about was holding mom in my arms and kiss her senseless. Believe me or not, that was more constantly on my mind than any wet dreams of making love to her, even though I had those frighteningly often, too.

Mind you, I was an uncontrolled pile of hormone-ravaged horniness who whacked off daily over images of my naked mom, but intellectually I was well aware how wrong those thoughts were. A son wasn’t supposed to have such explicit dreams of his mother. It was all an utter mess and on top of that, just as I had started to see mom as a woman, she inexplicably stopped sunbathing, even though the temperatures were just right for that. And I blamed that on myself as well.

To say our interaction was awkward would be an understatement. I spent even more time out with Jonjo or holed up in my room, still trying to suppress the unseemly feelings for mom, but I wasn’t doing a good job at that, and in September 1989, it all blew up in my face.

On my way to school I got a few strange looks from people I didn't know and when I passed the Bachlmayer shop, the family matriarch waved at me as she always did, but with a look as if someone had done something bad to me, somewhat pitying, and I didn't really know what I needed to be pitied for. My life was quite fine, except for the fact that I was head over heels in love with my mom and couldn't do something about it, because it was a big honking taboo.

When I arrived at the school gate, Jonjo was waiting at the entrance, and he was wearing a concerned face expression as well. In the distance I could hear different bits and pieces of conversation between excited classmates and older pupils discussing the anatomical particulars of a girl. That was nothing unusual. We had enough gullible girls in school who'd let their boyfriends take nude pictures of them and when they broke up the pictures would be passed round for general amusement by their vindictive ex-boyfriends. I never participated in such rituals, but I was well aware of them.

“Listen man, I told the principal that you're sick today. You should get outta here. You'll never hear the end of it,” Jonjo said hastily as soon as I was within earshot.

I couldn't really make sense of what he was talking about until he took a large thick envelope out of his schoolbag and revealed its content. It was the latest PLAYBOY magazine and on the cover page was my topless mom prancing around on a beach wearing only the bottom piece of her running suit. “So Sexy Is Marathon!” said the headline.

Well, that explained why mom had been to Rio de Janeiro a whole week for a one-day race. She had won it, her first international win in fact, but seeing that magazine, this detail sort of faded into the background.

I shoved the magazine back into the envelope, took it from him with a curt “I'll need that”, and walked off briskly without even saying thanks or anything.

On the way back all sorts of unbidden thoughts kept attacking my brain. Who had taken these pictures? Had he touched my mom? Had he even done the unthinkable? By the time I reached our house I had worked myself up into a jealous rage.

I stormed through the door and slammed it shut noisily. I was halfway through the living room when mom came in from the backyard, glistening with suntan cream and a towel draped around her bare torso.

I had of course suspected that her seizing the naked sunbathing had to do with me, but seeing that she just waited for me to be away so she could get naked again made me just more furious. I glowered at her, did a left face and stormed up the stairs to my room, slamming the door of it shut even louder than the entrance.

I knew she wouldn't follow me. First of all she needed to get dressed. She couldn't risk being seen half-naked by that leper of a son of hers, could she? And she knew better than not giving me at least ten minutes to calm down when I was really pissed off about something, even if it was something as stupid as this. What right did I have to see her body? None, but that didn’t stop me from having a teenage boy jealousy fit.

I kicked off my shoes, sat down on my bed in a lotus seat, and started to thumb through the pages, my hands shaking. Seeing the high quality glamour pictures of my mom should have made me rock hard in record time, but my irrational anger over the injustice of it all rendered me practically dysfunctional in the nether region.

There was one picture of her in her tight and skimpy two-piece USA track suit, dragging the side of the pants down to show her petite firm ass, one where she was leaning against a palm tree having lifted her top, one of her splashing about in the ocean completely naked and then there was the centerfold – my mom in all her naked glory, running along the beach at full speed, her long hair flowing in the wind. And she was baring it all to see for everyone with a few bucks to spare on a magazine.

Of course I was being hypocritical, in fact I was bigoted. I had produced more drawings of her than there were pictures in the magazine. Not only that, in fact I was selfish and blinded by jealousy over the fact that every adult in America was allowed to look at the woman I loved and I wasn't allowed anymore, ever since late last year. I’d only understand much later how pathetic I had been that day and how little consideration I had spared on mom’s feelings in the matter.

I was still looking at the centerfold, when there was a knock on my door and mom entered without waiting for an answer. She didn't get far. Two steps into my room and she had recognized what was lying open before me and she let out a little shriek. Mom froze and looked at me like a deer in headlights.

“Why so surprised mom, did you expect I wouldn't find out? You could have at least told me beforehand, you know. I wouldn't have walked into school having to listen to my schoolmates discussing how hot my mom's hairless pussy looks.”

Her face was now a grimace of open shock and of hurt. I was hurting her, but I was too caught up in my own temper tantrum to think straight, and the guys I’d overheard really had discussed the shaven particulars of a girl. I had merely been unaware that mom had been that girl. Knowing that now drove me crazy. The assholes had stared at my mom’s pussy!

“I want to know mom. What is the problem you have with me?” I seethed, still completely irrational with jealousy. “You wait until I'm out of the house so you can sunbathe, and you wait until late at night when you think I'm sleeping to go in the pool. Why is all of fucking America allowed to see you naked, but when I'm around you do as if something bad happens if I saw your gorgeous tits for a second. What happened to ‘we’ve been to the nude beach all our lives’? And what the fuck is all that about anyway? Why is my beloved mom naked in a fucking magazine?”

I angrily waved the magazine at her and forcefully threw it to the side.

You'll probably agree that I had a somewhat strange way of delivering a compliment. I saw tears running down mom’s face and she fled down the stairs. But even over the distance I could hear her crying. I closed my door, because I needed to be alone. The last thing I heard before the door snapped shut was that mom was trying to spell the name Beatrice Karass to the operator at the phone company and make them understand that she wanted to call Germany.

As it dawned on me what a monumental prick I’d been, I buried my face in my pillows as the shame over my behavior crept in.

 

 

**Lydia**

I tried to keep his head steady, pressing a wet rug against his forehead, but Mark was still thrashing in the throes of what looked like a bad nightmare. He was mumbling incoherently and from what I could understand, he seemed to think I would abandon him for being mean to me and I would run off with the photographer who’d done the photoshoot in Rio with me.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook him to wake him from the nightmare. The talk with my sister Bea had been singularly unhelpful, as she’d only confirmed what I already knew – my own son was desperately in love with me and of course that made my secret decision to accept the Playboy offer a very nasty surprise for him. In hindsight it had been such a stupid idea to hope he’d never find out. Kids had somehow managed to get their hands on Playboy magazines back in East Germany. What were the chances they wouldn’t over here in America where the stuff was actually produced?

But there was something much more disturbing. During the talk with Bea and especially now seeing my baby boy suffer over something I wasn’t entirely free of blame for, made me realize that his love for me was not even remotely as unrequited as he might think, but it was so utterly wrong to have these feelings for my own son. Now that this blasted Playboy appearance was almost guaranteed to boost my popularity, the media would get interested in my private life. Imagine the scandal if they found out I harbored intimate desires for my own son.

And it was so hard not to notice that Mark was becoming a man – and I mean a real man. Despite his distinctly non-athletic lifestyle he was well-built and since nudity had not been an issue in our household until a few months ago, I knew that his elusive father had left him with a rather manly genetic gift. Puberty had done a proper number on my boy and a certain male appendage had grown to a size that would be sufficient for most adult males of the species – and he was only fifteen and still growing.

I forced these thoughts and the forbidden arousal it caused out of my head. I had to put a stop to it before this would get out of hand. Our desire for each other was wrong on so many levels, and as the older and mature one I had to stop this.

Mark finally woke up with a scream, and it took him a while to recognize the situation he was in.

“I'm so sorry mom, I shouldn't have been so mean to you,” he pleaded with me. “Please don't leave me.”

I smiled at him, despite my inner agony. “I'm not going to leave you, Mark, and I'm not going to run off with someone else. It was just a nightmare. Yes, you said a few nasty things, but it's my fault, too, you know. I should have talked to you about why things happen. Sometimes I forget that you're fifteen already.”

He hugged me close and I gently kissed him on the temple.

“Do you know why I did that?” I asked, pointing at the magazine that was now lying on my bedside cabinet. “The photos?”

He shook his head.

“Do you think I look good? And I mean not only my 'gorgeous tits'?”

That last addition to my question made him blush a deep shade of crimson. But then he gathered all of his shattered manliness and looked me straight in the eyes.

“You are the most beautiful girl in the world, mom.”

I was startled a bit as I could hear that he was dead serious. Due to our history, he’d always been forced to be a bit more serious and independent than other kids his age, so I could tell from the determined undertone in his voice that those weren’t empty words. There were millions of women he could have made very happy with those words, but I was the wrong one. I’m his mother.

“Well, you are exaggerating a bit, like every man does,” I said with a lopsided grin. “But yes, I also think I'm looking good. My sport helps a lot with that. And good looking women with even a little bit of fame get offers to pose for the Playboy.

“You see, marathon running is fringe sport. It's not the one hundred meters sprint or football or baseball. Except for a few hardcore fans, nobody knows me. And that means I can barely earn enough money to make ends meet.

“Now, after the pictures, a lot of people will know me and a lot of people will watch me run. The cable companies will earn more, and I will perhaps get a few offers to appear in TV commercials. That's how most sportsmen really earn their money.”

“But getting naked for that?” he asked. “Isn't that a bit… um… slutty?”

Bless his heart. Despite all his irrational puberty-driven jealousy he still had his mommy’s dignity at heart, except that I had no problem with it. Hey, I was really proud of my body, you know.

“Want to know a secret, Mark?” I asked, in a slightly mock-secretive tone. “I also did it because I'm proud of my body. I work hard to make it look like it does. It's not often that the Playboy asks a nearly thirty-year-old woman to pose for their centerfold. That they think I'm still looking good enough makes me feel proud, you know?”

He nodded.

“And besides, I never had a problem being naked. We've always been to the nude beach all our lives as you said, well, except here where there aren't any.”

“But you have a problem with it when I'm around,” he blurted out, pointing at the proverbial elephant in the room. That pang of irrational juvenile jealousy was still eating him from the inside.

I grew serious, and probably failed abysmally at hiding my sadness over the rebuff I was about to deliver.

“I'm sorry, Mark. I should have talked to you about it, instead of making you feel like you are the problem. Well in a way you are.”

His head jerked up in surprise.

“So you DID deliberately wait until I was out of the house,” he stated and I nodded.

“There was a time when I thought that you actually prefer boys over girls, you know, like Aunt Bea prefers other women, because you never talked about dating any girls. But then I realized you DO like girls and one in particular – me.”

“Of course I like you, you are, well, you are my mom. Who doesn't like his mother?”

“I don't like MY mother,” I answered with a good deal of consternation. “No Mark, you don't only like me as your mom. You like me as a woman. Don't you think your comment about my breasts gave that away?”

He blushed a ridiculous shade of crimson again and looked down.

“Mark, you can't imagine how good that feels for a woman of my age, knowing that I look good enough to fascinate a fifteen-year-old boy. I have to compete with all the prim and proper teenage girls around you. But you are my son. It's wrong and against the law, too. I had hoped that when you don't see me naked anymore every other day, you'd eventually turn your attention to someone closer to your age.”

He started to say something, but I put my finger over his mouth. Being touched by mommy was still the most effective way to silence him.

“And besides,” I continued. “I'm an adult and you aren't. At some point you want to have sex. And you can't do that with me. There are laws against that as well. It’s even more wrong.”

“Then I'll wait until I'm eighteen. There are enough people who wait until they're eighteen. I can do it.”

“Wouldn't that take two people?” I asked him, pretending that his love for me was entirely one-sided. “You can be twenty-five and we're still mother and son. What makes you think I would even want that?”

I could see the utter devastation on his face when my mock-neutral tone convinced him that I didn’t reciprocate his feelings. It broke my heart to make him that sad.

“Please, look for a girl your age, Mark,” I managed to say before I sensed that I wouldn’t be able to keep my composure much longer.

I hurriedly left his room without a further word. He tried to put a brave face to it, but even before the door snapped shut, I could hear that my son was crying – for the first time since that day the Stasi had tried to kidnap me over two years ago. Hurting him like that tore into my heart like a double-edged sword and I fled to my bedroom to cry over my own agony.

 

 

**Mark**

I have no idea how long I cried that day. It made me hate myself, after all I was supposed to be a man. But mom’s cold rebuff had hurt me beyond belief. We barely spoke to each other for days until mom had to leave for a marathon in Italy.

I will never forget the TV pictures, as Jonjo and I watched the tape-delayed broadcast on ESPN. Mom was running on sheer anger, her face a grimace of utter rage. She brutally destroyed the field. There was a Russian woman who had struggled to keep up with her, but at kilometer thirty-five the Russian suddenly started to stagger, stopped and puked out seemingly everything she’d swallowed since early childhood. Mom left her behind and collected a victory, improving her personal best to two hours twenty-two minutes.

“Damn, man, what in the name of all that’s holy was that?” Jonjo asked, looking at me in surprise. “Your mom looks like someone stole her purse.”

“Damned if I know,” I lied.

I had a pretty good idea what had wound up mom like that. Describing the atmosphere in our home as ‘charged’ would have been a ridiculous understatement. But those problems soon took a backseat as just a week after mom’s rage-induced victory in Italy, on November 9th 1989 the Berlin wall was suddenly gone. It wasn't gone physically, but from one day to the other people could travel to the west and come back without being bothered. And the Stasi was gone.

But fate wasn't too kind to us, it never was. While we breathlessly followed the changes at home from afar, the life of my great grandmother came to an end. On June 2nd 1990, just one day after the Deutschmark had been introduced in east Germany, mom got a tearful call from Aunt Bea, who told her that granny Aurelia, my great grandmother, who had raised both my mom and me, had passed away at the age of eighty-five. Mom was scheduled to run the marathon at Vienna on June 15th, and two hours later she had rebooked the flight. We'd leave the next day already and instead of Vienna, the destination was now Berlin-Tegel.

As we were flying across the Atlantic again – this time on a normal flight – my thoughts wandered towards the days ahead. It was inevitable that we'd meet my grandparents, who had disowned mom seventeen years ago when she refused to have an abortion. I would meet the very same people, who had tried to prevent my very existence. They had hurt mom.

And nobody hurts my mom without consequences.

When we walked out of the departure area at Tegel, we were met by a very tearful Aunt Bea, who hadn't seen us for two years.

It was the first time since we had left Germany that I sat in our old Wartburg again, the only thing we’d kept from East Germany and Bea had never managed to get rid of it, being too attached to the stinking two-stroke lump of sheet metal. Six years in West Germany and America had taught me just how ridiculously bad the cars had been in the east. But we wouldn't be travelling in that car anyway.

We stopped at a hire car company in west Berlin that specialized in American cars. Neither mom nor I had ever taken a liking to those oversized lumps of pig iron with suspensions that seemed to be made from Jell-O, but we wanted those fuckers, mom’s parents in particular, to know that the system, they'd supported so steadfastly that they even disowned their own daughter, had driven us as far from home as America. And nothing screamed 'USA' more than a car the two ends of which had different post codes. That's why we selected a Lincoln Town Car.

But all that took a backseat to the fact that we were on the way to bury my beloved great grandmother, who had cared for mom after she'd been disowned and who had helped raising me. It tore my heart to pieces that I had never gotten the chance to see her alive again after we had to leave our home six years ago.

Of the three of us, only Aunt Bea was in any condition to drive the car. At sixteen, I was too young anyway, and mom was too moved by the return home and the grief over her beloved grandmother. She'd never driven a western car, but mom's younger sister delivered us safely to the funeral, although we did manage to piss of a lot of people on the Autobahn. Aunt Bea had no grasp of the concept of driving fast. We arrived barely on time. The procession had already begun.

We simply joined at the back of it, but we saw all the looks, varying between disgust and inquisitiveness.

The ceremony was subdued, but tearful, especially for mom and me. We both had lost someone who'd played a large part in our lives and we were both hurting that granny Aurelia had had to live out her last years without ever seeing us again. She had visited Aunt Bea in the West a year before her death, but we had already left for America by that time.

Once the funeral was over, we were approached by mom's parents. Now that they both had lost everything the two snakes tried to re-establish contact, but I was having none of it. They had hurt mom, the woman I loved, and I was up in arms. They were in for the wrath of this sixteen-year-old coming down on them like a fucking ton of bricks. I could see that mom was shivering with rage and grief and I shot Aunt Bea a look, which she immediately understood. She shooed mom away, knowing that I had reached critical mass. I was only sixteen, but I was the man in the household and I would not let someone hurt my mom even more than she was hurting already.

My estranged grandfather had been an officer in the east German army, that meant he spoke English, and I demonstratively addressed them in the language of our home in exile.

“You have the nerve to come near us?” I seethed. “You abandoned mommy and you demanded that she have me removed like a damn ulcer. Granny Aurelia hid her from you for four weeks until it was too late for an abortion. You should have died, not she. Stay the fuck away from us before we have to dig another grave.”

I could see the shock on their faces. I doubt that my grandmother understood anything, she was a window-licking idiot to begin with and only followed what she was being told by that skunk husband of hers, but he understood all too well.

“Didn't think I'd know that, did you?” I taunted him and I could see that he was preparing to talk back, his hands balled into fists, but at that moment my great grandfather, who had just buried his wife of 65 years, stepped in, raising his cane towards his son-in-law.

“Shut up, Gerd,” he grumbled in German. “The two of you couldn't have had your noses further up the communists' asses if you were sniffer dogs for hemorrhoids. You abandoned your own daughter, because the damn communists told you to. She’d have ended up on the street if we hadn’t taken her and the boy in. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I allowed you two to say farewell to Aurelia, but now I want you gone, now and forever, and dare you show up at MY funeral.”

He turned to me. “You boy will make sure that they won't disturb my last journey when the time comes.”

“I promise, gramps,” I said and for the first time since I could remember, he hugged me. After that he bade us farewell and bowed by age and grief, he walked away towards the house he'd shared with his wife for sixty-five years.

We didn’t stay for the funeral feast. Instead we walked back to the fresh grave again, spending some more time saying silently and privately goodbye to my beloved great grandmother.


	3. St. Kitts & Nevis

**Lydia**

I felt like the whole world came crashing down upon me. My relationship to my own son was so messed up it beggared belief. We were both head over heels in love with each other, but at the same time we knew it couldn’t be. And now the death of my grandmother too.

The only thing I could console myself with was, that she died peacefully in her sleep. Bea didn’t hesitate saying that she would move to a place closer to here to take care of grandpa. Losing his wife after sixty-five years of marriage was bound to come down hard on the poor man.

The question of us coming back to Germany wasn’t even worth asking. We had started from nothing twice in our lives, and there wouldn’t be a third time. We had enough problems to deal with as it were.

With twelve more days until the Vienna marathon, we decided to stay a few days at Bea’s place, our old second home in Lübeck. She was four years younger than me, but I hoped she would be able to help me sorting out my messed up life and perhaps even provide an idea what to do.

**Mark**

I was sleeping in the guestroom, while mom and Aunt Bea shared her room. Bea’s girlfriend Rita had her own apartment in Hamburg and even though we had told her that we would not want to intrude, she had just smiled and said that she had a feeling we would need the time alone among family. I wondered if she knew more than she let on.

Until two days before the flight to Vienna, we mainly relaxed. Especially mom needed some days to get over the death of Granny Aurelia, who had practically been her mother, being that she had been disowned by her biological mother. During the second-to-last night at Bea’s place my world was about to be turned upside down, yet again.

Woken up by a full bladder in the middle of the night I walked to the bathroom. On the way back I heard a muffled conversation from the living room. Mom was crying. Normally I was not in the business of eavesdropping on mom, but somehow I got the impression that I would be a topic, and I was proven right in an instant.

“Bea, I don't know what to do,” mom said amid sobs. “It's just so wrong.”

“What makes you think he still loves you more than just as a mother? Every boy has a crush on his mom at some point, but those things go away.”

“You know Mark always loved drawing. I found dozens of drawings of me in his room. Most of them naked. Damn, he made me look like a goddess in his pictures. And I found love letters. He obviously never sent them, but they all started 'My beloved mom' and some aren’t even a month old.”

Oh my dear god. They WERE talking about me, and mom had found my pictures and the love letters. I could feel my face burn up in embarrassment and my heart started pounding so hard against my chest, it hurt. I was so flabbergasted, I even forgot to be angry with mom for snooping around in my room, repeatedly by the sound of it.

I heard a rustling sound and I quickly tip-toed back into the guestroom. I kept the door open a bit and I saw Aunt Bea go into the kitchen and come back with a bottle of wine. Once she had disappeared in to the living room again I carefully ventured out. She had left the door open a bit, most likely to hear if I was about, which was ironic, wouldn’t you say?

“What about you Lydia,” I heard Aunt Bea ask. “You said he made you look like a goddess. That doesn't sound as if you're really inconvenienced by those pictures or the love letters for that matter.”

“Of course not. On one had I want that he finds a girl his age and takes the problem off my hands. On the other hand I’m terrified that he does. I love him more than I can say, but I'm his mother, Bea. I'm not supposed to feel like that!”

“Let's leave society out of it for a moment,” mom’s younger sister insisted. “His love is obviously not unrequited.”

Mom didn't answer, but I could guess what head-gesture she was making. And my heart was beating so hard my vision swam.

“Lydia, he loves you and you love him, and if you need to know, it is obvious to anyone who bothers to look. Do you really want to let other people's opinion keep you from exploring that love?”

“It's wrong sis, I'm his mother,” mom insisted, still in tears.

“I love another woman,” Bea said.

“I know,” mom answered, and I could hear the confusion in her voice. Everybody in the family knew that Aunt Bea had a girlfriend and we had met Rita in person a few days ago.

“Yeah, but twenty years ago it was ‘wrong’,” my Aunt said, sarcastically emphasizing the last word. “And there are parts of the world where people still insist that it is wrong when two women or two men love each other. Doesn’t stop me. What will break your heart more – someone censuring you for whom you love, or losing the chance to really love that someone? And really, who could love you more than your own son?”

As quiet as I could, I tip-toed back to the guest-room, my mind overwhelmed with what I had heard. My mom loved me the same way I did. Oh. My. God.”

The next two days went by in a bit of a haze. For all the discoveries I'd made, mom was supposed to run a marathon and she was supposed to run it fast, so I didn't make any attempt at letting show that I was aware of her chat with Aunt Bea. I still accepted the distance mom kept between us, even though it hurt a bit that she even booked two different rooms in the hotel. As far as I was concerned, two separate beds would have done the trick.

Race day came and I was standing in the start-finish area, about 800 meters from the finishing line, just across from the large view screen. And mom was on fire.

Normally the African runners would try to get rid of everyone on the first ten or fifteen kilometers with a murderous pace, but no matter how hard the two Kenyans and the Ethiopian woman tried, they couldn't get rid of mom. Her face was contorted in pain, but she held on.

When the Africans saw they couldn’t shake her, they paced themselves, lest they blow a gasket themselves.

Somewhere around kilometer thirty the Africans started to gesticulate that she should join the pace making as well, and I saw mom grin. It wasn't a friendly grin, it was the mean grin of someone who was about to kick you in the face - hard.

She took the lead and floored it. The Ethiopian blew up within two kilometers and then mom went at it hammers and tongs with the two Kenyan favorites. By the time she had dropped the first at thirty-three and a half and the second Kenyan at kilometer thirty-seven I was out of my mind screaming and cheering. I was mostly surrounded by Americans and I had truly infected them. The flags were flying when mom came round the corner onto the home-stretch.

She saw me and despite her obvious exhaustion she still managed to indicate that I should climb over the barrier. Some really huge guy hoisted me over the cordon and shoved an American flag in my hand. Mom grabbed my hand and I could barely keep up with her as we ran along the last eight hundred meters hand-in-hand. After 42 kilometers she still ran fast enough that I nearly had to sprint. When I let go of her to let her run through the ribbon across the finish line I was completely spent, but I’d never been this happy in a very long while.

Of course the fuddy-duddies of the IAAF made a stink about my presence on the track, but in the end mom was only given a verbal warning and the result stood, mainly because the Kenyans refused to lodge a protest. The second-placed woman, who had watched us from the distance, later came to us and said it was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen.

 

**LYDIA**

Back in the States, I was the flavor of the month, or actually several months. The Playboy stunt, the Vienna race and my background as a former East German got chewed through by the media and I was passed on from one talk show to the next like a baton in a relay race. Viewership numbers for marathon and half-marathon races went through the roof and USATF begged me to try out for the 10.000 meters as well. I agreed, but life had cheated me out of two Olympics already, so I wasn’t getting my hopes up too much that I would actually be in Barcelona in 1992.

In addition to the talk shows, I appeared at several charity events, ran a few marathons and had filming days with Volkswagen USA and Gatorade for TV commercials. I think poor Mark saw me more often on TV than he saw me at home. I was dead tired, but it was a welcome respite from having to deal with the illicit feelings I had for my own son. The opportunities were few and far in between, but whenever I returned to our home for a day or two, I both hoped and dreaded that he would introduce me to a girlfriend of his.

But he didn’t. No, instead he spent every waking minute nursing his completely exhausted mother back to health. That was especially bad after the London marathon in September 1990. Having exhausted my energy, I bonked spectacularly, running out of steam after twenty-five kilometers and for the first time since 1984 I had to abandon a race. I was not happy. But that, frankly, was the least of my problems. My body told me loud and clear that enough was enough.

When I came home, I was barely able to stay upright and things weren’t helped by the fact that Mark didn’t speak a single word. He just brought me to my bedroom and left me to get ready for bed. I merely stripped down to panties and bra and fell over into my bed, my whole body tense and tied up in knots.

Ten minutes later he was back and I could see nothing but utter sadness in his eyes. Had I been anything but completely exhausted, I’d probably had felt guilty, knowing that he probably felt abandoned, but I didn’t even have the energy for that.

He put the blanket to the side and shoved a large towel under my legs. Did I say I’d run out of steam? I didn’t even have the strength to ask him what he was doing, but I was about to find out anyway. He bent my legs, rubbed massage oil into his palms and started massaging my wrecked leg-muscles.

First I was gripped by a moment of panic that Mark would take things in his own hands and would try to touch me in places he wasn’t supposed to touch, but as soon as he started kneading my tortured muscles, I noticed he was giving me quite the professional massage. Shortly before exhaustion took me to the night I remembered that Jonjo’s older brother was a physiotherapist, who had sometimes unwound my muscles in my early training days. It looked like my son had used the time of my absence to broaden his horizon beyond painting.

The next day would just leave me ashamed of myself.

I woke up in the late morning. Vaguely remembering the evening before I looked under the blanked and saw my underwear was still in place. I picked up the faint whiff of massage oil and I noticed my muscles hurt not even half as much as I had expected after such a bad race.

Mark brought me breakfast to bed. Apparently he collected it later, but I was already asleep again. The same happened with lunch and supper. In the evening he massaged my legs again, finally untying the last knots in my muscles, cleaned up and left me to sleep through a second night. He hadn’t spoken a single word to me all weekend.

When I finally got out of bed after over thirty hours the next morning, I was feeling more refreshed than I had any right to after the hard slog of recent weeks. Mark was nowhere to be found, having left for school already. But everything was prepared. I found my bathrobe near the shower, breakfast was prepared. He had basically pampered me the whole time I was home, and I felt guilty about it. All he’d seen of his mom was an utter train-wreck he had to nurse back on her feet. I felt relieved when my manager John called with the next appointment for a sponsor event in Vegas. It allowed me to escape. I wouldn’t have to look into the sad, disappointed eyes of my son.

 

 

**Mark**

Mom made a truckload of money but I barely got to see her anymore. I spent Christmas and New Year's Eve with Jonjo and his parents as mom was in South Africa for altitude training. She spent her thirty-first birthday winning a half-marathon in Italy and my seventeenth birthday in March saw me sit at home getting myself wasted out of my skull drinking beer with Jonjo, watching soccer. He and his family did the best they could to keep me upbeat, and the Bachlmayer's made sure I had no shortage of good German food. But I was reaching critical mass. I felt abandoned. I went to the gym, learned cooking – well it was either that or starving – but the days in an empty house wouldn’t end.

Mom was of course home now and then, but never more than forty-eight hours at most before her damn manager would call and shoo her away for her next gig. And when she was home she was often so exhausted she never got out of bed some days. I would bring her three meals to her bed and in between she'd sleep like dead.

I did everything in the house. When something needed fixing I called a repairman or fixed it myself. If you think someone is useless with tools, just because he's academically gifted or an artist – think again – my fingers are nimble enough to produce a very realistic drawing. They can operate a screwdriver just as well. I had become the man in the household, but nobody was ever there to notice.

It was a sunny day in May 1991, over two months after my lonely seventeenth birthday, normally just the right weather to sit at the pool or swim in it, but instead of spending another boring day alone, I was storming into the lobby of XIS Management Consulting in downtown Pasadena and rudely told the bewildered lady at the reception desk what I would do to her pets if I wasn't granted an audience with Mr. John Handworth, preferably yesterday.

Obviously she loved her poodle or whatever shat on her carpet at home, as less than three minutes later I had an audience with the man.

“Mark, it’s good to see you,” he greeted me with a phony smile. That was another pet peeve of mine. The guy called me by my first name although I never offered the privilege. That was a rude thing to do, at least in Germany. He'd only seen me three or four times, but spoke to me as if I was his bestest buddy. I didn’t like that much

He'd been to our house a few times to talk to mom over contracts, while I was always the designated waiter bringing them snacks and wine. And those evenings had always ended the same way. They'd drink a bottle of wine or two, chatting, and then he'd leave, leaving me behind to deal with my hopelessly drunk mother.

What do you expect? Mom rarely drank any alcohol to begin with and she was a 55kg lightweight. But those kilos could get damn heavy if you had to wrestle them up the stairs when she was wasted out of her skull on the rare occasion she’d drunk something.

At the time I couldn’t shake the feeling that the scumbag hoped she'd take him to bed one day and just left when it didn't work out, and after December ‘90 he didn’t show up anymore. I should only learn later what the drinking was about. At the moment though, I certainly wasn't in the mood for niceties or overly familiar address.

“If you don't stop pushing my mom from Billy to Jack, I'm gonna come round to your house and debone your fucking dog,” I growled without so much as answering his greeting. “She's been away practically constantly since her win in Vienna. I'm tired and sick of seeing her come home for a day or two completely worn out beyond belief, nursing her back onto her feet, only for you to send her off to the other fucking end of the world again.”

He looked at me in shock. I guess he'd never heard a German swear like a lumberjack in English before.

“Sit down, Mark.”

“That's Mr. Karass for you,” I demanded angrily, but took a seat.

“Okay, Mr. Karass,” he answered calmly. “It appears there's a monumental misunderstanding here. We only act in the best interests of our clients. After all that's how we earn our money.

“For the record, I was told that you returned to live in Germany with your aunt in December last year. Now obviously that's not true. And you say your mother is constantly exhausted?”

“Every fucking time,” I said, irritated by the new information. “She comes home, pale as a sheet. Sometimes she sleeps through twenty-four hours. What would you call that? And just as I have nursed her half-way back to health the next call from you comes and she's got to leave for yet another sponsor event here or a charity gala there and in between she's supposed to be winning races. Why do you think she bonked so badly during the London marathon? She was already beat when she left for England.”

Seeing the guy’s shocked expression, I realized that he really had had no idea. I could see it by the way he buried his face in his palms.

“You didn't know that did you?” I asked, just for clarification.

“No, I didn't,” he said, genuinely contrite. “It was your mother who requested all these appointments. She always told me with you back in Germany she didn't want to sit in an empty house and I had asked her several times if it wasn’t too much. Most of the trips have been to Europe. I always assumed she wanted as many trips there so she could hop over to Germany to visit you.”

He looked at me.

“Mark,” he said, ignoring my earlier protest about using my name. “It looks as if your mother is desperately trying to keep herself busy. That often happens with grieving people. Didn't her grandmother die shortly before Vienna, the one who raised her after she'd been disowned?”

“I think you are right, Mr. Handworth. Maybe she's not yet gotten over it,” I lied. I knew EXACTLY why she ran away. This was just another attempt of mom to put me off loving her and yet again she'd accepted willingly that I could get hurt in the process.

I wanted to be angry with her, but I couldn't. No, I wasn’t angry but I was hurt. However, that gave me the conviction I needed that I had to get an answer from mom. Either she’d tell me once and for all that we wouldn’t be together, or she’d throw that damn taboo out the window with me.

Theoretically, with mom having lied to her management company, they could have terminated the contract, but Mr. Handworth made a deal with me. He finagled several upcoming events to be cancelled and instead he'd organized a two-week holiday on St. Kitts and Nevis. In mom's schedule it would show up as filming days for yet another commercial. He'd given me the number of a grief counselor and the mission of getting mom back in shape for the Olympic trials in August. Until then all her appearances other than competition events were cancelled.

I must admit that I had truly misjudged Mr. Handworth. He could have tossed mom aside after what she'd done, but he stood by her. I felt bad, because we were still technically lying to him. Her problems had absolutely nothing to do with grandma's death, but on the other hand I got the feeling that he didn’t believe in that theory himself. He only ever spoke about how I should make sure that mom relaxes and doesn’t overdo her training. He never mentioned attending counseling sessions.

The master plan was easy. Mr. Handworth had told mom that he'd like to take me on a three-day fishing trip, so I left the house on May 25th 1991, but instead of going fishing, I was on a plane to St. Kitts and Nevis – twenty-four hours before mom would make the same journey.

I arrived at what looked like a huge mansion on the beach – a private beach. Hell it was a private BAY for what it was worth. When I walked into the house which was at least twice as big as the more expensive ones in our neighborhood in Pasadena, I found an envelope on the table. I opened it and found a letter from Mr. Handworth.

_Hello Mark,_

_This estate is mine, but it is yours to use as you please for the next two weeks. You have the whole area to yourselves, especially the beach. There is a car in the garage. Please make sure your mother relaxes._

_John_

I was just about to put the letter back when I found a small note in it.

_I know the real reason of the problems between your mom and you. She talks too much when drinking wine. Officially we'll keep the other story. Hope you two can work it out for the best. I’m rooting for you, kiddo. If you need to talk, my private number is on the underside of the telephone._

It was the same neat handwriting as the letter, so if Mr. Handworth knew mom's secret and still hadn't fired her from her contract, that could only mean there was another ally beside Aunt Bea. And I decided to go for it. It would either be now or never. I couldn't take any more heartbreak.

The taxi drivers around this island seemed to function like clockwork – not that they had to dodge much other traffic. Almost on the minute, 24 hours after I had arrived, my mom walked in, carrying two bags which crashed noisily to the ground when she saw me putting the finishing touches on the dinner table.

What can I say, having been more or less abandoned at home for the last seven months, I had had more than ample time to learn a few tricks from Mrs. Bachlmayer and Jonjo's mom in regards to keeping myself fed and preparing meals. Mom was walking in to a full-blown candle-light dinner.

That I had actually managed to get this dinner done without burning down the house certainly qualified as a minor miracle. It wasn't like I had had an uneventful day.

I had had a call with Mr. Handworth, trying to find out how much he really knew, and it turned out, he knew everything. But even more importantly, the reception lady I had so rudely threatened turned out to be his wife, Mrs. Rhonda Handworth – and she was his SISTER. I definitely would need to apologize to her.

No wonder he'd seen through our whole charade – he'd been there, done that and probably had the t-shirt to show for it. How he had managed to marry her, however, was something he declined to tell unless mom and I worked out our messed up love lives.

I had then called Aunt Bea and spent half an hour listening to a passionate pep talk about growing a pair and forking mom to the plate. I didn't care much for the vernacular, but it had given me the confidence to push the issue and auntie had given me a few hints about mom that would help with this.

“Mark, W-what are you doing here?” Mom stammered, completely confused about finding me in the middle of the Caribbean.

“What does it look like?” I asked, seemingly detached. “I've prepared dinner for us.”

“I thought you'd gone fishing with John?”

“We lied,” I replied dryly and indicated her to take a seat. “There is no filming. We’re having a vacation. Now sit down and eat. You haven't eaten anything for almost twelve hours.”

“How can you know when I last ate?” she asked in that typical 'don't talk to your mom in that tone' falsetto, still trying the good old female tactic of 'as long as you argue, you're 50% right'.

I was having none of it.

“I did the same journey yesterday. I know how long _I_ didn't eat. Sit down!”

The last one was delivered a bit more forcefully and mom looked bewildered, but she did just that. Aunt Bea's hint about mom’s submissive streak wasn't all that wrong apparently. At the time though I wasn’t quite sure whether to be amused or worried by it.

We ate in silence, but I could tell that mom was distracted. She was still trying to make sense of what was happening. But despite all the distraction she tore into my Goulash as if she'd not eaten for days, and considering what the last seven months had been like I wasn't even sure if that was so far from the truth. She certainly looked haggard in her summer clothes.

Now that the cooking was done and I was in no more danger of hot fat landing on my chest, I took off my shirt and threw it away as the day’s heat had crept in. I noticed how mom looked at me, somewhat longingly. I wasn't Arnold Schwarzenegger, nor did I sport an impressive six-pack, but I was reasonably built. I had had seven months of boredom behind me and many a day had been shortened by working myself to shreds in the gym, so that I would fall asleep of exhaustion to get another day without mom behind me. Those seven months could yet turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I’d definitely gotten a lot more independent.

Once the dinner was over, I stood up and asked – no I ordered – mom to take a seat on the sofa, which she did. I walked to the cupboard and fetched a bottle of wine and two glasses. I put them on the small coffee table and sat down on the sofa facing her.

“It's almost thirty degrees in here mom, you don't need a shirt. Take it off.”

Her eyes went wide ever so slightly, but she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Since she'd been wearing nothing underneath my mom sat across from me, topless and shivering with anticipation.

I calmly filled the glasses and looked at her.

“Mom, that was only a test. If I would continue bossing you around we'd be in your bed within the next ten minutes rutting like rabbits. That's how this asshole of a father of mine got a thirteen-year-old girl pregnant, isn't it? He realized you were submissive and exploited you. And now you run away from me for fear that I'd do the same.”

I could see tears well up in her eyes and leaned forward to put her shirt back on, but mom fended it off. “It's okay baby, it's really hot anyway.”

“Mom, if you can't love men anymore because of what happened to you, or if you can't love me, then tell me now to my face,” I demanded softly. “It will hurt me, but it will hurt me once, not constantly like your abandoning me over the last few months.”

She looked at me in a mix of shock and realization that this would be the last time I’d try my luck with her. Somehow it seemed to sink in that I would not ask the same question again. She started shaking and hid her face in her palms. Her body was rocked by sobs and when she looked at me, tears were running down her face.

“I can't tell you that I don’t love you, honey. I do love you. God I love you so much, but I can't make us outcasts again!”

I gathered her up in my arms. It was the first time I'd touched mom when she was half naked, but it didn't matter. At the moment I just wanted to soothe her.

On an impulse I leaned in and kissed her square on the mouth. I was as inexperienced as anyone can be, but I could soon feel mom take the lead and before long we were engaged in a passionate tongue wrestling match. She hugged me with an urgency I’d never experienced before and her tongue frantically explored my mouth.

When we finally broke the kiss, I kept holding her in my arms, her head rested on my chest.

“You won't make us outcasts, mom. We love each other and we have people, who're going to help and protect us. Aunt Bea, and your manager for starters. He arranged all this. Normally he could fire you for lying to him, but instead he chose to help us.”

Mom looked up to me. “He knows?”

I nodded. “He worked it out by himself. Well, me storming into his office threatening to rip his dog to shreds may have something to do with it. And you are apparently a bit too chatty when you had some of that.”

I pointed at the wine glasses.

She freed herself from my embrace and looked at me mouth and eyes wide open.

I shrugged. “After seeing you almost fall over in the London marathon I knew that your batteries were empty and I thought Mr. Handworth was the reason for you being away all the time. So I cornered him.”

She blushed and looked utterly contrite.

“I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't know how much it hurt you.”

I shook my head and placed a finger under her chin to lift her head up.

“Mom, you wanted to hurt me, just not as badly as you ended up doing. You were hoping that I’d get angry enough with you to give in to any of the girls at school, even if she only wanted me for my large dick. You’d hoped I would give up on you so you wouldn’t need to think about crossing that line anymore. Am I right?”

Her eyes were moist and she nodded.

“Newsflash, mom. It didn’t work. I’m not giving up on you. And on the topic of crossing lines, there is one we didn’t cross yet and won’t cross. It’s only nine months till my eighteenth birthday. I can wait to make love to you. But I don’t want to wait anymore for waking up with my mom in my arms and I want to get back to living like we used to. And one thing you badly need is some sun. Those tan lines are sexy as hell, but they look ridiculous. You didn’t have those in the past.”

Mom looked down her bare chest. She was well tanned, as any outdoor sportsman, but were the top of her tracksuit normally sat her skin was white as a sheet. It was a ridiculously stark tone difference.

“You just want to see me naked,” mom said with a still teary-eyed giggle.

“Well there’s that,” I said with a mischievous grin, but then I adopted a serious face again. “Mom, I’m serious. I love you and I’ll wait until I’m eighteen. We can wear pants in bed, but I don’t want to sleep in a different bed than you anymore.”

She smiled at me, and for the first time I felt that she looked at me as a man, not as her son.

“Oh, one more thing,” I added Columbo-style. “I wasn’t kidding. For the next two weeks I don’t wanna see any clothes on you except for meals, sleeping or if we leave this estate. I’ve brought a year’s supply of sun cream. We’re gonna get rid of those tan-lines.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, son of mine.”

With that mom slung her arms around me and kissed me. For the first time in over two years I spent the evening with my mom cuddling on the couch again.

We only drank one bottle of wine, but of course mom ended up heavily buzzed. She really was a light-weight. But at least she wasn’t one of those women, who got overly horny with the drink, so keeping my promise wasn’t too difficult. In fact we’d barely settled into the double sized bed and mom passed out cold as exhaustion and four glasses of wine had finally gotten to her.


	4. Lessons Learned

**Mark**

When I woke up it was already a bright sunny day. Mom’s head was resting in the crook of my shoulder, her arm slung possessively around my waist. It was a bit of work, but she didn’t even stir when I disentangled myself from her embrace. She needed the sleep after running herself ragged for seven months, so I started my day a bit earlier without her.

I had made breakfast for myself and prepared some things for mom to use once she’d wake up.

And waking up took her quite some time. I was lying on one of the many deck chairs getting rid of my own tan line. I could hardly expect mom to do so and then have some of my own. Although mine weren’t that ridiculously obvious as I wasn’t an outdoor athlete. As someone interested in arts I spent much time indoors, which meant my tan wasn’t awfully healthy to begin with. Well, I had two weeks in the Caribbean to correct that. 

At around half past ten I heard some rummaging in the kitchen and half an hour later my naked goddess appeared before my eyes. She had brought a towel with her, own sun tan oil, and a drink of some kind in a Martini glass. The white pattern of her track suite-induced tan lines was almost blinding in the bright sun.

“You should be careful with that,” I quipped and pointed at her glass. “You get half-wasted from four glasses of wine.”

“Don’t worry, I went very economical on the Vodka,” she replied with a beaming smile, and put her towel on the chair next to me. Before lying down she kissed me and then she saw it.

“Oh my god, Mark!” she squealed and looked dumbfounded at my crotch. “Forget waiting till your eighteenth birthday. We’ll have to wait until I’m sixty and worn out enough to take that!”

“I’m not even fully hard, mom,” I replied somewhat abashed. “But finally getting to look at you again will rectify that soon. By the way you really haven’t taken good care of yourself lately, have you?”

To deflect her attention from my crotch I pointed at hers. It looked as if she had missed at least one waxing appointment as her pussy was covered with a sparse layer of fluff.

“You like your mom all clean?” she asked with a provocative grin and I just nodded, ogling her like the village idiot. Oh dear, that would be some properly long nine months.

“What’s with the booze though?” I asked and pointed at the glass when she was sipping from it. “You rarely drink to begin with, and now even before lunch?”

“I need to build up at least some resistance,” Mom explained. “I get invited to sponsor events and charity receptions and whatnot. It’s embarrassing to be the one who starts staggering and babbling after two glasses of Champaign. And you said yourself I talk too much when I have some stuff in my system.

“If it was for me I could well do without, but it’s a bit silly to play teetotaler when you’re sponsored by Moët & Chandon.”

I didn’t answer immediately as I was momentarily hypnotized by the sight of mom spreading the sun tan cream over her perfect boobs. She noticed my staring and just smiled. I shook my head, grinning like an idiot and tried my best not to dribble.

“Anyway mom, I hope you don’t plan to go on a two-week bender.”

She just laughed. “I’d be sick as a dog after three days. Don’t worry honey. I’ll just try to drink a bit every few days until I can withstand at least three or four glasses without embarrassing myself. I have no plans to become a battle drinker.”

We both lay back, closing our eyes and occasionally exchanged a few sentences. About an hour later Mom was on her second drink and still reasonably okay, and she even had brought me a cool beer from the fridge.

“Mom, can I ask you a personal question?” I inquired as we both lay on our backs, eyes closed and roasting our fronts. First I only got a giggle for an answer.

“Honey, if I recall correctly from before I was too tipsy to remember, we both declared our undying love for each other yesterday. You can ask me anything you want.”

“What’s with that submissive streak you have? I ordered you to take off your shirt and you just did. I’m a bit worried.”

“You are worried that someone else makes me do things I don’t want?”

“More or less, yes. It certainly worked for my father.”

“Mark, it doesn’t work that way,” mom explained in a soft voice. “I’m not stupid or mind-controllable. First of all, I’m a competitive athlete. Total submission wouldn’t really work in that business. Remember the three Africans in Vienna? Was I submissive?”

I chuckled and sat up, taking a swig from my beer. Mom sat up too and smiled at me.

“I can’t tell you much about your father. But I can tell you, he wasn’t a bad person. I think he really liked me. Remember I was thirteen and at that age I didn’t even have boobs. I barely had enough to feed you with a year later. He certainly wasn’t after me for my body or my looks.”

“But he still got you to give up your virginity,” I reminded her.

“That he did, and it was because I let him. Of course back then I thought I was in love, even though I was barely old enough to comprehend the concept. But the bottom line is, submission is part of my sexuality, but not my normal character. And I practice my sexuality only with people, who I’m very, VERY close to.”

“And he still just ran away leaving you with a baby while you were still a kid yourself,” I insisted.

“And so was he. He wasn’t much older than I, fourteen and a half. We were both stupid kids. After we’d done it, and we were so clumsy I’m amazed we managed to make you at all, he realized he could have gotten me pregnant. Now what would you have done at that age having to come to me and ‘fess up that you might have knocked up a little girl?”

I realized that all these years I might have been utterly unfair to the one who was my father, realizing I would have run screaming as well. I buried my face in the palms of my hands. I felt mom’s hand rubbing my arm.

“Mark, I forgave Frank a long time ago,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s time you do as well. After all, he helped to make you and I think despite our inexperience we did a hell of a good job.”

I couldn’t help, but chuckle. “There’s no chance to find him is there?”

“Perhaps with time,” mom said and downed the rest of her cocktail. “Now that my lovely son is kicking my ass back in line, I’ll not bonk again. And one of my next marathons is the Olympic trial. Who knows maybe I’ll even qualify for the 10.000 meters. If he watches the Olympics, maybe he’ll remember me. And one thing is definitely clear – if I win any medal, I’m gonna take a victory lap with you. Then he’ll definitely know who I am. If you want to know what your father almost certainly looked like at age seventeen – there’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

I just shook my head, momentarily too overwhelmed by the new information.

“To get back to that other topic, Mark. This is the reason why I also want to wait until you’re eighteen before we make love to each other. There’s no law against a mother kissing her son, or a son making fantastic drawings of his naked mom. But there is a law against a mother having sex with her son, and I want both of us to be old enough and responsible for our own decision when we cross that line together.”

“You are afraid I turn my back on you and claim I was a teenager and didn’t know what I’m doing?” I asked and some of my hurt seeped into my voice.

“No, honey, I know you wouldn’t do that. After all it was you who fought so hard for our love, remember? But your next birthday is one of the most important days of your life. From that day on, you’ll be accountable for every little thing you do before the letter of the law. Making such a monumental decision in that moment will be a good reminder of that.”

“My decision will be the same as it would be now,” I said with conviction.

“I sure hope so, honey, because I’m going to run you ragged that day.”

I chuckled with her. “What happened to waiting until you’re sixty and all lose and worn out?”

Suddenly mom blushed a massive shade of crimson.

“Well it was a bit hard to miss that your father left you an …um… large gene.”

I nodded with a mischievous grin and mom giggled with abashment.

“Two years ago I made a bee-line for the sex shop and bought two new dildos. The poor girl behind the counter nearly fainted about the two big ones I bought. Now it will certainly require some finesse from you, but I’m ready for you honey.”

“That’s how long you wanted…”

Mom nodded, and I blushed.

  

**Lydia**

Frankly, I had no idea who of us was having a harder time waiting for Mark’s eighteenth birthday. God almighty, Frank must be the brainy elephant man. Of course I didn’t measure it but Mark is still in growth yet he must be at least eight and a half inches when he was hard, and he was hard most of the day, what with me prancing around naked in front of him all day. Too bad I couldn’t do naked training in Pasadena, it was a really great feeling of liberty. It reminded me just how much I’d missed going naked since I stopped doing so after discovering Mark’s feelings for me.

I couldn’t believe how much he had changed over the last few months. My running away had been an act of cowardice, but at least something good had come out of it. My baby had become a man, and that went beyond his more than manly build. And he was a mean little bugger. He knew all too well that I got aroused when he was watching me training naked. The beach was about one kilometer in width, so I had to run back and forth and every time I passed by him he’d look at me and once in a while he would provocatively stroke his towering erection. More than once I had to run straight back to the house to ‘help myself’ when the arousal got too much.

Not that he was any better. I didn’t count, but I think he hid in the bathroom to visit Mrs. Fist, Finger Avenue number 5 at least twice a day. But at night he was the perfect gentlemen, never threatening to break his promise to wait for his eighteenth birthday before trying anything funny with mom. I was so confident in his trustworthiness, we didn’t need to wear more than a pair of pants each and whenever we woke up with Mark cupping one of my boobs, it was because I had gently put his hand there before he woke up.

Apart from that I continued my ‘drinking practice’ every few days, but progress was slow. It still took no more than four or five glasses of wine before I’d be so wobbly on my feet that I would not make it up the stairs without my baby steadying me. Perhaps it’d be better to look for a different sponsor and get back to not drinking at all.

  

**Mark**

The last three days of our two-week vacation were spent in relative quiet. Mom continued to ramp up her training, still gloriously nude, but I refrained from trying to make her horny. We wouldn't want to tempt each other too much. When the time had come to pack our stuff mom still had some tan lines but considerably less pronounced. The rest could be taken care of at home, now that she didn’t need to hide from me anymore.

On the morning of the fifteenth day the owner, Mr. Handworth, arrived with his wife. We greeted them at the door and he immediately congratulated mom on how much healthier and relaxed she was looking. Then he turned to me.

“Have you two worked things out, young man?”

I nodded with a wide grin.

“Should we tell your mother the secret?”

“I think that would help Mr. Hand… um… John,” I quickly corrected myself and mom looked somewhat surprised, first at John then at me.

“Lydia, I had worked out pretty quickly what was up between you and Mark,” he explained indicating we should take a seat in the living room. We did so and mom took my hand between hers and put them in her lap.

“When Mark came to my office to read me the riot act and told me what you had NOT told me. It reminded me of the fact that my wife once tried to run away from me the same way you were running from Mark.”

“Your wife is…?”

“Not my mother,” he answered mom’s unfinished question, shaking his head. “Rhonda is my sister.”

Mom looked at him, and smiled, realizing she wouldn’t be alone in her crossing that taboo-line and that doing so wouldn’t make her a monster. Obviously John and Rhonda looked like very decent people.

“How did you manage to marry?” I asked. “I know a few countries were mom and I could have sex legally, but marrying?”

Mom blushed slightly at the use of the S word, but John just smiled.

“It’s easy, but also tricky at the same time,” he explained. “Your mother is a well-known athlete. As such, spouses, siblings, children and even grand-children can assume a different identity for privacy reasons.

“Live a few years with the new identity and then go to a country that doesn’t go overboard with the paper work – Denmark is a good place to marry.”

“And what’s the tricky part?” I asked.

“You’ll have to be careful that neither of you ever gets caught up in a criminal investigation. And it will throw a bit of a wrench in your education plans.”

That spiked mom’s attention. “What sort of… wrench?”

“You’re just finishing high school aren’t you?” he asked me.

I nodded. “Finals start in two weeks.”

“It would be best to finish high school under your own name, then sit out a year to change your identity, and have your high school papers retro-actively changed to the new identity.”

“Doesn’t sound to tricky to me,” I said.

“There’s more. We will have to throw the yellow press rags off the trail. That means you must stay in the shadows. You can’t be seen at any sporting events with your mother. No more stunts like Vienna.”

“Deal,” I said before mom could even offer any response.

“And here’s the big one. The tabloids are already falling over themselves why America’s big marathon star doesn’t have a man at her side. If they don’t get a story soon, they’ll start to dig deeper than any of us wants. We’ll have to have your mom being seen at events with a dashing young man. And that man can’t be you.”

“Escorts?” I asked, again precluding any reply from mom. She sent me a questioning look.

John nodded. “They are professionals, so you don’t have to fear that they will try to woo your mother, but are you sure you can endure seeing her being hugged or kissed by another guy?”

This time mom beat me to the punch. Her reply was hotheaded. “I am NOT going to kiss other men, professional or not. He might think he can deal with it, but I’m not going to hurt my baby like that.”

“No you won’t kiss anyone, you won’t have to,” I added calmly and this time it was John who looked at me with curiosity.

“We are both German immigrants, so why don’t we play the German stereotype?” I asked. “Everybody thinks Germans are uptight and always controlled. Just feed them a line of bull about how many Germans think kissing in public is too intimate.”

John looked at me in elated surprise. “That’s a brilliant idea kiddo. Can you deal with that, Lydia?”

Mom nodded and squeezed my hand. She smiled at me.

And so it was decided that after graduation I would become Mark McElway.

Despite the fact that I had taken two weeks off school to frolic around with my mostly naked mom in the Caribbean, I had no problem breezing through the finals. Well, if we were ever going to search for my father, we’d probably best start in academic circles.

It was certainly helped by the fact that mom had returned to her more relaxed lifestyle, so whenever I took a break from studying I could go down poolside, have a cold drink and recharge my batteries looking at my mom’s gorgeous body. Sometime around late June she’d finally gotten rid of the damn tan lines.

Mom had been seen at two charity gala’s with a twenty-year-old guy that everyone thought was her boyfriend and soon the tabs were falling over themselves how she had a preference for younger guys. That would go a long way to avoid any upheaval when perhaps one day she would marry a guy fourteen years her junior.

But goddammit, was it hard to watch. Seeing mom in sexy dresses, made-up like a beauty queen, but the guy at her side wasn’t me. It tore my heart apart.

John must have expected that and both times mom was to be seen on the news, he and Rhonda showed up for a surprise visit and they always had beer with them. I ended up quite smashed one of the evenings when the guy hugged mom after she’d been announced as a member of the team for the 1992 Olympics at Barcelona.

It was harmless stuff, and I knew the guy was just an actor of sorts, but it still hit me harder than I’d thought. Thank god John had successfully launched the German bullshit story, so at least I didn’t have to watch them kiss.

Unfortunately mom had noticed my suffering and she only accepted such events if she could be home the same night, so I would wake up in the morning seeing that she hadn’t spent the night elsewhere. And she always made sure to kiss me properly in the morning, despite the horrible dog breath of mine after a night of beer drinking.

Over the time however, I calmed down. In November '91 mom ‘publically broke up’ with her boyfriend, which would give us a few months of quiet from the inquisitiveness of the yellow press.

Unlike last year I wasn’t home alone at Christmas and we’d spent a quiet evening at a secluded table in the Bachlmayers’ restaurant. It was also a first test of my new identity. I had grown a full beard and was wearing round glasses with normal window glass in them. The Bachlmayers didn’t recognize me for over thirty minutes. I looked completely different.

My beard itched once in a while, but mom loved it to bits, spending time every night just running her fingers through my soft facial fur. And I loved the trimming every few days. Mom insisted on doing it and somehow she always just happened to be naked when it was time to trim the beard. So I regularly got a few minutes of close-up view of mom’s delicious body. Who would have thought that grooming could be such a sensual experience.

My life was almost perfect, if it wasn’t for the fact that I missed Jonjo. He’d been accepted into Berkeley and only came home about once every month, so I spent a lot of time on my own or going fishing with John. We’d come a long way since we all knew each other’s secrets and he and Rhonda had become really good friends of ours.

Jonjo had been somewhat surprised by my name and appearance change, but mom had allowed me to bring him into the loop about our secret. He’d taken it surprisingly easy, saying I could definitely do worse for a girlfriend and he told mom he’d never tell a soul. He was like a second son to her (without the special relationship WE had), so neither of us doubted his sincerity.

In fact he had news of his own, presenting a girlfriend one day – Maria, a Mexican immigrant girl who could rival mom in terms of beauty. I’d say for two brainiacs Jonjo and I had done quite well in the lady stakes.

As John had suggested I had taken a sabbatical year after high school. A local newspaper had commissioned a weekly comic and several illustrations per week from me, so I earned quite a bit of money.

But I hadn’t blown it on anything, instead I saved up every penny. By the time mom’s birthday rolled around in February 1992, I had about nine-hundred dollars at my disposal, my entire savings of the last two years.

I could have gone to buy some worldly good, but if you can draw and paint, there’s a much more personal and heartfelt way to produce a present that shows your love for the one you’re giving it to. I had worked on it for two weeks straight. Yes, it is an oil painting of my naked mom, and it his hanging in our bedroom. Mom is proud as a peacock of how beautiful she looks on it.

But as the real gift I would take my mom out on a date. We both knew that my birthday would be the day we’d finally make love, but I didn’t want that to happen before I had taken her out on a date as was befitting a gorgeous lady.

Mom was still out, training, and she was oblivious to what I had planned. Playing a bit on her submissive streak, I’d put several notes with ‘orders’ at various places in the house.

When she came home I was standing halfway up the stairs watching her. As she put her running shoes away, she found the first note.

_Mother,_

_You will undress and refresh yourself in the pool as soon as you come home._

She let out an excited giggle and followed my instructions. She caught a glance at me watching her as she walked out naked and with a mischievous smile she wiggled her boobs at me. A short moment later I could hear splashing from the pool. February was sort of chilly, but not really for people used to Northern Germany weather and the pool was heated, so she wasn’t in any danger of freezing. As she would use the provided towel to dry herself, she’d find the second note telling her to join me in the kitchen for a toast and she did so a couple of minutes later, still gloriously naked. The cool air outside had made her nipples hard.

I handed her a glass of Champaign. She had ‘practiced’ now often enough, so she wouldn’t keel over wasted after a glass or two. 

“Happy Birthday, mom, I love you,” I said, leaning in and kissing her.

“I can tell,” she noted, brushing over the bulge in my pants. “You can’t get enough of your naked mommy, can you?”

I shrugged unapologetically and returned the favor by kissing her boob and flicked my tongue around her hard nipple a couple times. “Not my fault that you’re so damn sexy.”

“Just three more weeks honey,” she rebuffed me gently and I let go of her breast. Mom’s face was flushed. Despite our constant tempting each other and mom occasionally ‘misplacing’ my hand on her boobs at night, we’d never really touched each other intimately, so the little flick of my tongue together with the little game I was playing had left mom more than just a bit aroused.

“Any more orders, son of mine?” she asked in a husky voice and I told her she’d find it on her bed-side cabinet. She hurried off and several minutes later I could hear mom’s moaning as she followed my order to ‘unwind’. It didn’t take long until she screamed out her orgasm.

I had used the time to collect mom’s abandoned clothes and by the time I went past our bedroom, I could see that she was coming down from her climax, sprawled on her back. She had left the door wide open.

I put the clothes in the laundry basket and when I walked into our bedroom mom was just leaving to follow her next order, taking a shower and preparing make up for a night out.

She sent me a questioning look, but when I made no move to provide any explanation, she kissed me and went about her business. When I heard the water running I went through her wardrobe. The last ‘order’ in the bath would tell her to wear what I selected for her. I finally found what I needed – a pair of no panties, a white suspender belt and white thigh-highs and the ankle-long red evening dress with the risqué neckline that went almost down to the belly button. She’d worn that to one of the events parading her fake boyfriend and I wanted to erase that image. I was supposed to be the man at her side when she wore something as sexy as that.

Satisfied with my work, I went back to my room and selected my new tuxedo with a white shirt and a burgundy red tie. I carefully combed my beard and applied a bit of ‘whore-diesel’ as we used to call deodorant back in Germany.

Of course being a man I was ready to go way earlier than mom. On the way down I heard her surprised squeal when she noticed the absence of any panties in my selection for her attire.

When mom sashayed down the stairs her cheeks were rosy and I could tell it wasn’t rouge. She came up to me and planted a kiss on my lips, wiping the lipstick off me with a kitchen towel afterwards.  

“You are a naughty, naughty boy. Why did I even diddle myself? I’ll be seriously horny in a few hours.”

“You can take care of that when we’re back,” I quipped, grinning completely unapologetically. “Seriously mom, do you even age at all? You look the bomb!”

“My face is up here,” she reminded me playfully.

“Oh yeah, your make-up’s pretty as well,” I joked and she swatted me on the shoulder with a chuckle.

“You look quite dashing as well, son of mine,” she cooed and looked up and down the tuxedo I’d bought for the occasion. "You're not taking me to Vegas wedding are you?"

Our banter was interrupted by someone honking his horn outside. I put the shawl around mom’s shoulders and offered her my arm to lead her out of the house.

Once I’d locked the door we walked up to the limo that awaited us and she let out a little squeal of surprise when she realized who the driver was. It was John in full chauffeur’s uniform.

We had colluded over the last two weeks to make it a memorable evening for her, and John had offered to rent a limo and play chauffeur for the evening. Rhonda meanwhile had taught me to dance, which I had never learned in my early youth. I wasn’t Fred Astaire by any stretch of the imagination, but I wouldn’t be crushing mom’s feet either.

She was completely overwhelmed and I could see she had to fight hard not to tear up, as that would have ruined her make-up. John congratulated her and held the door open for us. I first assisted mom in getting in and then climbed in myself.

John announced that the ride would take about twenty minutes, so I opened the car’s mini bar and served us two glasses of finest Champaign. Mom only shook her head in amazed disbelief all the time.

By the time we arrived at one of the ritziest joints in town – a four-star French restaurant – we’d finished our drink. A year ago mom would have had glazed eyes already from the two glasses, but now she was perfectly fine.

I helped her out of the car and led her into the restaurant where a guy called Jules greeted us with an outrageous accent and guided us to one of their Séparées, where we’d be undisturbed.

Mom leaned over and planted a searing hot kiss on me. “God, honey, this is amazing, but you must have blown all your savings on this.”

“There’s no such thing as too expensive if it is for the love of my life,” I declared, raising the corny stakes. “And besides, I believe what awaits me on MY birthday is quite invaluable in comparison.”

Mom shook her head, looking at me with adoration and a glimmer of tears in her eyes, quickly dabbing at them lest the moisture ruin her make-up.

It was a fabulous meal, although I’ll probably never understand what it is with ritzy restaurants and portions that seem to be styled on the energy requirements of field mice. At least there’d be no worry to wreck mom’s fighting weight with less than five months to go until the Barcelona Olympics.

By the time the dessert was served we’d had another two glasses of Champaign, and mom was a little giggly, but she still made it to the restroom and back in a decently straight line.

When a waltz started playing, something I was reasonably comfortable with as far as my dancing skills were concerned, I asked her for the dance and my flabbergasted mom followed my lead onto the dance floor.

I will never forget those dances as we forgot the world around us and just got lost in the depths of each other’s eyes. Mom had a smile etched on her face that would probably take quite a while to wipe off. I had never seen such an unbridled joy and happiness in her eyes. It was this moment when I realized that there was no turning back for either of us. I’d always had that underlying fear that mom would fall back into her fear of ‘crossing the line’, but drowning in her eyes as she looked at me with boundless adoration, I knew that our fate was sealed. Nothing in the world would ever come between us. 


	5. Most Agreeable, My Son

The next morning I sat in the living room watching the Bundesliga summary of last weekend. I doubted mom would show up any time before noon. She’d been more than well tipsy as we returned from the restaurant and once John had taken his leave, mom had gotten rid of her clothes in a drunk striptease.

It speaks for her looks that she could make stumbling around and fighting with intransigent clothing look sexy. After we’d finished yet another bottle, (I had made sure that the majority of it went down MY gullet) she’d been properly pissed out of her mind.

And then she’d crawled up the stairs to do something about her arousal. Keeping my promise, I did not watch it, but if the sound was anything to go by, mom had gone properly wild. By the time the ruckus had died down, she’d passed out with two dildo’s still lying on the bed that left little to guess what had happened and I had to stage an emergency procedure for myself in the bathroom. It were only nineteen more days until my eighteenth birthday, but seemed like eternity to me.  

She came down sometime around fifteen hundred, wearing a bathrobe and she was definitely walking a bit funny. Thankfully, since mom didn’t need much to get drunk, even with her ‘training’, she was not too heavily hungover the next day. But that particular day she looked quite a bit worse for wear.

“Honey, did we do something… stupid?” she asked slightly concerned, rubbing her sore backside.  

I chuckled and explained that she had taken care of herself ALONE the night before and that apparently had included using one of her older, smaller dildos in her petite rear-end. At least that was what I had gathered from the Vaseline that was smeared all over it before I had washed her toys.

“God I haven’t done that in months. Don’t get your hopes up though, sweetheart, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take your monster in there,” she grumbled as she gingerly lowered her battered rear-end onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter.

I served her a piping hot coffee and a glass of water with an Aspirin noisily dissolving in it. Well, noisy for mom.

“You’re the best, honey,” she groaned and downed the water when the Aspirin was gone. “It was an absolutely amazing evening, at least the parts I remember.”

“How much do you remember?” I asked curiously.

“I performed the clumsiest striptease in the history of mankind, and nagged you to open another bottle. After that my mind went blank.”

I filled her in that the wild fun she had had with herself was the only bit missing from her memory. Mom took my oath that I would keep her at least a mile away from anything alcoholic until after the Olympics. I gave her my promise.

When the Aspirin had started to defog her mind and the coffee had restarted most of her vital functions, I handed her this morning’s paper as it had a lengthy feature article about Meredith Daxter, a young long-jump talent who’d made it onto the Olympic team, and one that I knew was a good friend of mom, as she was working out of Pasadena as well.

She’d basically done what mom had done almost three years earlier and posed for the Playboy. But unlike back then when the powers that be had rolled out the red carpet for mom for promoting a fringe discipline, they came down on the poor girl like a ton of bricks. With people like Carl Lewis around, the long jump didn’t need no promotion and the ‘conservatives’ had a field day droning on how inappropriate it was for a female athlete to engage in such indecent exposure.

Mind you, that were the same fuddy-duddies, who’d licked mom’s boots for daring to show her tits to promote an underappreciated discipline and almost tripling the government grant money after marathon broadcasts started racking up record viewer numbers on TV.

Did I mention you better not cross my mom?

She spent the next three hours on the telephone with various athlete-representatives, among them aforementioned Carl Lewis and as far as I could make out, mom was to stage some sort of protest and would have the backing of her colleagues. I didn’t know what she had planned, but it would happen five days before my birthday on March 4th in Utrecht, Netherlands – mom’s next marathon appearance.

Unfortunately they didn’t show the race live. It was an early morning race, which meant it was in the middle of the night in Pasadena, so I had to wait for the tape delayed broadcast on ESPN the next morning.

I knew something was up when the broadcast started with a black screen with text rolling up, and my eyes went wide when I read that this broadcast would feature full frontal nudity of adult females and parental guidance was advised.

Well there was no guide available for me, as my parental unit was most likely the nude one. I heard a tire squeal in our drive-way and just a minute later John and Rhonda barged in.

“Do you have ESPN on?” he asked, before he noticed my shit-eating grin.

“No points for guessing who it is,” I said as Bill Rodgers, the co-commentator, waxed lyrically about how much guts it took to stage a protest like that and how the viewers would be witnessing the true beauty of the sport. There in the first row stood mom, stark-naked except for running shoes. She had “Stop Bigotry” painted over her boobs and her starting number painted on her abdomen.

With the Africans absent, mom was the runaway favorite with Russian champion Fedorova as her only real opponent. The two stood next to each other and suddenly the Russian yanked off her top and someone handed mom a marker to scribble the Russian’s number on her belly.

Rodgers explained how the start had to be delayed as about fifty other women from all over the world took their tops off and wrote their numbers on each other’s bare torsos as news got round what mom was on about. None of them dared to follow mom’s example of dropping the pants too but the point was clearly and truly made.

And so I came to watch mom on TV running a marathon completely naked. About thirty minutes into the race I couldn’t take it anymore and excused myself from John and Rhonda, my face flushed a dark shade of crimson. They laughed and Rhonda called after me to close the door to my room.

I spent the next two hours cooped up in our bedroom, watching mom run naked through the Dutch countryside, masturbating until my testicles imploded. She won the race over two minutes ahead of Fedorova.

Of course the airborne excrement collided with the rotating air-conditioning device in the aftermath of mom’s stunt. First the USATF officials wanted to have mom arrested on grounds of indecent exposure, until they were filled in on the fact that being naked in public was legal in the Netherlands if it was an artistic expression, and they had all had suspiciously number-shaped drawings on their bodies. That’s why the whole thing technically qualified as an outdoor body painting exhibition.

The next thing was trying to throw mom out of the Olympic team, mostly fueled by massive lobbying from Melinda Kennuck’s camp. She had finished second to mom in the Olympic trials over 10.000 meters and she was a right ol’ bitch. Well, not old, she was only twenty-two, ten years younger than mom, but she was a bitch, okay?

But that attempt didn’t hold water either as several high-profile athletes threw their weight behind mom and threatened to boycott the Olympic team. With several almost guaranteed medals and millions of government grants at stake the USATF caved in and also rescinded all sanctions against Meredith Daxter, who called that night and tearfully asked me to tell mom how eternally grateful she’d be for the help.

 

 

**Lydia**

God, had I known they would show that one on TV I might have thought about it twice. Not so much because of the running naked part. I probably have a bit of an exhibitionist in me and I’m proud of the fact that at thirty-two I could still turn some male heads away from their much younger girl friends if I tried. No, I couldn’t get it out of my head what it must have done to my poor Mark. My darling son was probably already counting back the hours until his birthday and then he got to see his mom stark naked for two and half hours. I really hoped he’d left anything in those well shaped dangling bits to fill me up with.  

Of course there was also the option that John and Rhonda may have been with him. I hadn’t told John what I was planning, so knowing about us, he would have told Mark about it once the broadcast was on. I could almost see my poor Mark sitting on the couch cross-eyed.

But there were more pressing matters to deal with. The USATF had of course not taken too kindly to being called out for their bigotry in such a public fashion. What did they expect? I have started over from scratch in my life twice to be afforded basic rights like free speech. Did they really expect I wouldn’t make use of that right when it was badly needed. They had devastated Meri over her Playboy shooting. What should have been a moment of pride for the girl was turned into a nightmare by a bunch of guys who played the moral instance while half of them probably secretly fucked their secretaries, because the old lady back home didn’t cut it anymore.

Thankfully I wasn’t alone and some really big names spoke up in my favor. I mean nobody was ignoring Carl Lewis when he threatened to leave the team if USATF wasn’t getting off mine and Meri’s backs. In the end Travis Carrington, the highest-ranking official with our delegation, had sat me down in a restaurant in Utrecht and grudgingly accepted to let off Meri and me without consequences in exchange for my promise never to engage in naked running again.

I had no problem giving that promise. My Mark will still get to see me naked on the treadmill whenever it takes his fancy. He loves watching his naked mom, and I would never deny him that pleasure. But I can do without televised events. Knowing that he was somewhere at home whacking that large organ of his furiously while watching me had made me so unbelievably horny I’d run straight for the facilities after finishing and it wasn’t to have a pee.

You can probably tell that Mark isn’t the only one who can’t wait for that special day to arrive.

**Mark**

And thus THE DAY loomed – my eighteenth birthday, the day I would finally be able to make love to the woman I desired with every fiber of my body and every waking second of my mind.

After the Utrecht marathon mom had hopped over to Germany to meet with Aunt Bea, so she wouldn’t be back until late at night the day before my birthday.

When I woke up in the morning, a moment of panic gripped me as I found the other half of the bed empty, fearing that mom would be late for that all-important day, but then I found an envelope on the pillow. I opened it.

Inside it was a Birthday card and as I opened it, a photograph fell out, and it left me breathless. I immediately recognized the park near auntie Bea’s house, our old home, and in the background the sun was just rising, so it had been taken recently and in the early morning. Mom was wearing a long trench coat with absolutely nothing underneath. I could tell because she held it open revealing her naked body. By the way her areolae had contracted and the nipples were standing up, I could guess it was well chilly – March isn’t exactly a summer month in Germany.

My naked goddess had her body painted just as she had during the Utrecht marathon, but this time she hadn’t a slogan written across her boobs, but “My Sweetheart” instead and the ‘starting number’ on her tummy was a huge honking 18. I would bet my bottom dollar that this had been auntie Bea’s idea.

There were several arrows painted on her lower abdomen, all pointing towards her bald pussy with a ‘Insert Here’ scribbled in an arc around them. I couldn’t decide whether to be moved to tears or to laugh hysterically, so I just cackled and sobbed at the same time.

I took the card and read it.

_Happy Birthday my love,_

_The day we’ve both been waiting for has come. Please make yourself decent and meet me for breakfast. Don’t bother with any clothes. I don’t think we need those._

I practically darted out of bed and into the bathroom. I was tempted to take shortcuts with my morning hygiene, but you don’t go to the love of your life to make love for the first time without being squeaky clean and well-scented. So I forced myself to go through all the steps. Shower, check, extra care taken for gentleman area, check, teeth brushed, check, applied mom’s favorite scent, check. Oh, hair and beard combed, check, check. Clip finger nails as far back as possible, check, file down any sharp edges, check.

I don’t think any man-virgin has ever come to his first time this well-groomed.

Already rock-hard in anticipation, I walked down the stairs into the living room where I was met with the sight of the most amazing breakfast ever served.

Mom was lying on her back on top of the table, blindfolded. Her perfect firm breasts were topped with whipped cream and a cherry on top of each. Tied around her hips was a large red ribbon with a bow covering her pussy. I’d only smelled it a very few times before, but I immediately recognized the sweet smell of mom’s arousal.

You don’t just go about ripping such an exquisite present open, do you? I bowed down and kissed mom square on her lips and she eagerly returned the caress. I could tell she was dying to grab my head and run her fingers though my hair as she always did when we were French-kissing, but she couldn’t do so without ruining the delicate arrangement on her chest. We broke the kiss and mom desperately tried to fight her heavy breathing lest the Champaign she’d poured in her belly button dribble out.

“Happy birthday, honey,” she whispered breathlessly and I offered an equally whispered “Thanks, mom”.

I gently ran my index finger along her arm to let her know where I am as I moved towards her mid-section. I could feel the shivers running through her body and she had goosebumps all over. Leaning down I slurped the sparkling stuff out of her belly button, caressing it gently with the tip of my tongue.

By the time I started working on liberating mom’s nipples she had stopped fighting her labored breathing and her whole chest heaved up and down in her attempts to suck in more oxygen. Very gingerly I scooped the cherry off mom’s right breast ever so slowly and carefully until I trapped the erect nipple underneath the cream coating between my teeth. Careful not to bite with any real force I rolled the sensitive flesh between my teeth.

Mom let out a loud moan and unable to lie still anymore, she arched her back in desperate search for my touch. The second cherry rolled off her boob, down the inside, down her chest, straight into her belly button where it came to rest.

“Hole-in-one, mother,” I quipped and she giggled and moaned, urging me to continue. Ever so slowly I licked the whipped cream off her breasts with extended periods of nipple-teasing in between.

Sucking in her scent I recognized that she had applied the good old Irish Moss, the old Intershop whiff of East Germany. It was fitting in a way. Just like eight years ago, when we’d fled to the West, we were again embarking on a journey from which there was no turning back, but there was no doubt, this time we’d both enjoy it a hell of a lot more.

By the time the last traces of whipped cream were gone, so was mum’s composure. She was thrashing her head left to right begging me to open my present.

I sat down at the head of the table, put mom’s legs over my shoulders and pulled her towards me. A light tug at the ribbon ends and the bow opened to reveal mom’s freshly waxed pussy – and boy was she drenched. No wonder the whole room smelled of female arousal.

I leaned forward and ran my tongue along the length of her pussy and mom whimpered in anticipation. Her juices were flowing and ran down my chin as I searched for the pleasure nub inside her swollen folds. God it was a sight and a sensation to behold. Feeling the tremble of her body, knowing that it was caused by my touch made me euphoric as my mind was dominated by only one thought – I wanted to make mom feel good.

Finally I found my target and gently dug in, feeling the jolt that ran through her body as she almost jumped and the settled back moaning while I continued my gentle torture by circling my tongue around the little nub deliberately slowly. Mom lobbed a few friendly insults at me in retaliation for my being slow, but I wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

Mesmerized by the taste and smell of mom’s pussy I completely lost track of time. I could tell it had been long as by the time I regained my concentration mom was no longer trembling she was thrashing around, wailing, sobbing, and begging for relief, abusing her own nipples in search of the much-needed climax.

I quickly changed my pace and started lapping at her sweet spot like a horny dog. Within moments she let out a bloodcurdling scream and her whole body started convulsing in what can only be described as a violent orgasm. I had read that women preferred to come down gently from an orgasm so I changed position and circled my tongue around one of her nipples as mom was still shaking in the aftershocks of her climax and then panic struck me when I realized that mom was crying, and she was crying hard.

“Oh my god, mom, have I hurt you?” I asked and gave up on her boob to cradle her head in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She had gone completely limp, her arms and legs hanging lifelessly over the edges of the table and suddenly I noticed laughter mixing into mom’s sobs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, honey,” she struggled among sobs. “I’m crying because I’ve never felt anything as powerful as that. I thought I was going to explode. Where the hell have you learned THAT?”

“God I’m relieved,” I blurted out with a sigh.

Mom regained her composure. “But I will hurt YOU, if you don’t do that to me again at least once today.”

“Only if that stays on,” I bargained and gently ran two fingers over the blindfold.

Mom giggled. “It turns you on seeing mommy stumble around blindfolded?”

I blushed, and ‘fessed up. “Better than mom drunk. This can be taken off and you’re back to normal.”

“Well, lucky you, honey, because I get mightily turned on stumbling around blindfolded. We’re a perfect match, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ve known that we’re made for each other since I was fourteen,” I said and put a gentle kiss on her lips.

She just smiled. “That you did, honey. And thank you for never giving up. I love you.”

“I love you too mom.”

“Can you help me up? I think you melted all my bones.”

When she climbed off the table her knees buckled and I quickly slung my arms around her, my hands landing on her firm buttocks. Her arms snaked around my waist in an effort to steady herself.

“Protecting the precious parts, honey?” she asked me with a mischievous grin.

I sat mom down at the table getting the prepared foodstuff from the kitchen counter, but as soon as I had sat at my< end of the table, mom muttered something about needing something with more proteins and slid off her chair to disappear under the table.

She crawled around and I soon felt her searching hands glide up my legs. I looked down and it was a good thing I wasn’t chewing something. It would have gone down the wrong pipe. Mom crouched between my legs and twirled her tongue around the head of my throbbing erection. She opened her mouth and swallowed as much of my large tool as she could.

It was like noting I ever felt before any my cutlery fell out of my hands as I instantly turned to Jell-O. The incredible sensation of mom’s soft lips gliding back and forth on my sensitive organ was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt. The birds-eye view gave me a good look at mom’s bobbing head and I reached down to stroke her hair and I gently caressed her ears – a particular favorite of hers.

My whole body started to tingle when mom let out a long moan with my meat still in her mouth. From where I sat I guessed she hadn’t had much experience with it, but she certainly wouldn’t suffer any lack practice time. It was definitely addictive.

Even though it was a one-sided activity – I doubt women get much out of it – she seemed to enjoy herself immensely. Once in a while she made some slight slurping sounds and giggled like a school girl.

In retrospect, I’m still amazed I could even think so much during the experience, but it didn’t take much longer until I was reduced to a dribbling, grunting caveman, robbed of coherent thought by mom’s expert tongue-work.

She had settled into a quick rhythm, bobbing her head up and down my shaft and it didn’t take much longer for the familiar tingle to appear in my loins. I tried to warn her of my imminent eruption, but mom continued undeterred.

With a triumphant growl I exploded in her mouth. She coughed slightly as the first shots of my payload hit the back of her throat, but mom persevered until she had gulped it all down and licked me clean. As quick as she had appeared she was gone again, and after a while re-appeared on her side of the table.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast, son of mine?” she asked, carefully exploring the tabletop with her fingers until she found her meanwhile fairly cold cup of coffee to wash my payload down.

“It was a most excellent feast mother of mine,” I replied in kind. “However, I do now wish to make slow and gentle love to you, if that would be agreeable?”

“Oh it would be most agreeable, son of mine,” she cooed.

I walked around the table with as much dignity as you can muster with an eight-inch erection slapping against your thighs while you do so. I took her hand and while I guided my still blindfolded goddess across the living room, I made a slight detour to flip the switch on the Hi-Fi deck. I had made a tape of love songs and soon the Harry Nilsson original of “Without You” was playing in the background. I’m a softie – sue me.

“God you really know how to turn a woman into mush, don’t you,” mom sniffled and giggled at the same time, still following my lead to the couch. I sat down and let go of her hand. Mom quickly assessed the situation with her fingertips and wasted no time pointing the head of my throbbing organ at her moist opening. With a low guttural grunt I hadn’t expected to come from such a petite body she lowered herself onto my lap, facing me while my erection disappeared into her body.

I’m afraid I can’t give you too many details about the next, I don’t know, fifteen minutes? Fifteen hours? Having no clue about sex, I simply let mom take the lead and god almighty did she blow my mind. As soon as her slender frame had swallowed me up, she leaned forward and kissed the daylights out of me while she started to sit up and down along the length of my manhood. I still vaguely remember grabbing her firm butt, but after that my memory went somewhat blank, lost in an overpowering mix of pleasure and lust.

I think I shed a tear or two as my young mind tried to process that I was finally making love to the woman I desired above everything else. The caress of her tongue, the scent of her hair and the feeling of her flawlessly soft skin in my hands simply short-circuited my inexperienced brain and I surrendered myself to the magic of the moment as mom moaned and squealed into my throat while taking what we had both craved for such a long time.

I have no idea how long we hat desperately worked each other’s tongue, but when I regained some sort of coherence, mom was riding me in earnest, her leg muscles flexing as she sat up and down at a frequency that would have killed a mere mortal. Even my marathon-hardened goddess was exerting herself quite thoroughly as was evident by her arms slung around my neck for support and her head leaning on mine.

“God, sweetheart, this is…”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as just as my coherence had returned, hers took its leave. It was a good thing this was an extremely private endeavor as I suspect some of the noises we made would not be out of place on a farm. By the time we were both perilously close to relief, mom’s body was hard to cling on to as she was covered by a sheen of sweat. If I needed any more confirmation that we were a match made in heaven, I got it when mom started screaming out her orgasm merely fractions of a second after I emptied myself into her body.

Trying my best to follow what I had read in several magazines, I cuddled and caressed mom as she came down from her orgasm.

She had shook quite a while in the aftershocks of her climax, but soon I noticed that her body had gone limp and a soft snoring alerted me that she had fallen asleep in my arms. Well, that explained why her half of the bed had been empty. She’d simply stayed awake.

I quietly slipped out of her, which elicited a sleepy whimper, but she didn’t even wake up when I removed the blindfold and hoisted her up in my arms. After carrying her up to our bedroom, I put her down on the bed and lied down next to her. Those sheets would definitely need changing, but I couldn’t care less. Gathering up my sleeping goddess, I soon started to drift off into blissful sleep myself.

That was a birthday present I will never forget. 


	6. Body-Painting

**Lydia**

I don’t think we could ever keep our hands off each other for any length of time for two weeks after Mark’s birthday. By early May, during the final preparations for the Barcelona Olympics, my coach started warning me that my thigh muscles were getting too big.

I’m in the same dilemma as a professional cyclist. Your body defines what you’re good at. If you have huge, heavy muscles you’re ending up as a sprinter, but if you are a marathon runner, or a mountain goat in the Tour de France, your body needs to be light. Every unnecessary kilogram is one that you have to carry around for over forty-two kilometers, using up precious energy. So the growing muscles would become a problem. I’d gone from fifty-five kilograms to fifty-eight and it was all additional muscle mass.

There was no way we could keep up Mark’s favorite morning quickie, well as much as you can call it a quickie when you need up to three minutes just to get his large tool into my pussy without tearing anything apart or causing pain. He just loved to lie flat on his back, having me ride him so he could play with my boobs and watch my flexing leg muscles. And boy was he good at playing with my breasts. If I could, I’d make his hands my favorite bra.

I knew he liked morning blowjobs too, so he’d have to ‘make do’ with those while I was still competing. Since we needed to change our still young routines of having sex, it was just as well to have a little chat about it.

When I got home, I put on my favorite ‘seducing Mark’ costume – bright red sheer thigh-highs, a matching garter-belt and nothing else, not even panties. He absolutely adored his mommy in that get-up. I still had about an hour and a half before he would return from the editorial team meeting at the headquarters of the Pasadena Mariner, the local newspaper that commissioned so many illustrations from him.

I slipped an apron over my head. As much as I like being naked, especially for my darling son, safety comes first. I wouldn’t want to burn some body parts that my dearest sweetie is very protective off, and handling food with your bare pussy on display isn’t sexy but a hygienic nightmare. I started frying his favorite finger food, little meatballs following a traditional Berlin recipe and I prepared other types of snacks to make it an eclectic finger buffet for two.

Back in February I had asked him to keep me away from anything alcoholic after I had almost ripped my own rear-end to shreds in a drunken masturbation, but today we’d make an exception and I had selected a light wine from the Saale-Unstrut region in East Germany, just about two marathon distances from where we’d once lived. Now, eight years after fleeing from East Germany, it felt like a distant, former life.

The wine was actually more for Mark’s benefit than mine. As much as he loved making love to mommy, he was quite uncomfortable talking about it, so I had decided to go for a more relaxed atmosphere as several things needed to be discussed. There was the obvious point of abandoning the morning’s cowboy ride, but there were other things. Mark was almost too respectful of me. As a mother it pleased me that he had so much respect for females, but as my lover he needed to be more assertive.

I’m not one of those women begging their partners to spank or hurt them, but a little light humiliation and gentle domination gets me going in ways that are difficult to describe. It doesn’t do much for a woman with a submissive streak that he was so abashed on the rare occurrence that he actually asked to have sex. Most of the time I had to take the initiative.

There was actually only one situation in which he would allow himself to lose control even mildly, and that was when I waited for him in the exact getup I was wearing then, sans apron of course. Seeing me in the red nothing he usually jumped out of his clothes almost frantically to bend me over the nearest piece of furniture for a darn good seeing-to, not stopping before I had had at least three orgasms. When it came to being pleasured, he was a dream partner and I couldn’t believe that just a year ago I was still inclined to deny myself that piece of heaven because of a social taboo.

But today that wouldn’t help much. Since that memorable vacation in the Caribbean, we’d both discovered how great it feels to go practically or completely naked all the time. And whenever there was an important measure to impart on our partner, we’d paint it on our naked body, as a sort of running-gag reference to my stunt in Utrecht and later for the photo for his birthday. That’s why I had painted “NOT YET” just above my pussy, and it is harder than it looks as obviously you have to write upside down.

But silly messages were not the only thing that got painted on my body. Being an aspiring artist he had produced several body paintings on me, really elaborate works that had me sit or stand still for up to eight hours, while he painted my body from the neck down to my thighs. He was amazingly good at that. Normally I would wear a cheap pair of skimpy white panties that he just painted over, but for one picture he asked me to be completely naked. I wasn’t so sure, because once done he would always call a professional photographer to have his ‘canvas’, me, photographed from different angles. I wasn’t very comfortable with the thought, but my clever sweetheart had made my naked pussy the black triangular nose of a large and ridiculously realistic looking tiger head he’d painted on my stomach while my boobs were covered with the surrounding jungle. I could just as well have worn a swimsuit with that as a motive printed on. Frankly, I wouldn’t even have been afraid going out into public like that. You could theoretically see all, but practically nothing. It covered my naughty bits better than some of the underwear I have.

Well, the rest of the cheap white panties would probably collect dust now. From then on I was comfortable enough to be painted on completely naked and Joshua, the photographer, who like Mark worked for the ‘Pasadena Mariner’, was a very funny and respectful guy, so I no longer felt uncomfortable, when he took pictures of me. That they looked spectacularly good certainly helped too. I couldn’t believe I still looked that good at age thirty-two. If you are a woman and want to make sure you look spectacularly good far into your thirties – just become a world-class athlete, it’s that simple.

When I heard Mark pull up in the driveway, I quickly took off the apron and waited for him in the living room. The dinner table was all set, but I had to make sure he’d read the message, else I would end up lying among the food being ravaged by my sweet lover. Having come in with a cheery ‘Hi mom’, he was already sans shirt before he saw the message across my pubic area. His eyes went wide.

“Got it?” I asked and he nodded, looking sheepish and slightly disappointed at the same time. I wiped off the food dye with a wet cloth.

“Honey, don’t worry, I want you as much as you want me, but beforehand I want to talk to you.”

“Okay, mom,” he said, dragging out the first word insecurely, and I could clearly notice the wariness in his voice, so I smiled to ease his worries.

“Get those clothes off and come here,” I said and stretched out on the sofa. Getting his clothes off meant that he was supposed to strip down to his boxers. He normally wore those even when going ‘naked’ and I could see the reason for that. Well, no, I couldn’t actually see it as it was covered by his briefs, but walking around the house with those large dangling bits slapping against his thighs was a bit impractical, so he wore a pair of shorts when we ‘went naked’ about the house.  

He slipped in behind be and I lay back against his chest while Mark held me with his hands around my waist. It was our favorite cuddling position.

“Mark, honey, do you remember the little game you played with me on my birthday?”

I felt the soft vibrations of his chuckle. “I couldn’t believe that you really went without any panties,” he said, his mirth radiating in his voice. “The dress went all the way down to your ankles, but still.”

I sipped my wine, before asking the question that was on my mind.  

“Why haven’t you done something like that again? Now that you’re eighteen, the options are much more… interesting.”

“Mom, that was a little game. Making love is something special and I can’t just walk in, saying ‘Suck my dick, mom’. I couldn’t be that disrespectful. I can’t just assume you’re in the mood for sex whenever it takes my fancy. You’d miss yet another Olympics if I did that.”

I had to giggle about his chivalry. Of course as his mother it was proof that I had done something right, but as a lover he needed to lose that once in a while.

“Sweetie, do you think it is disrespectful to wake you up in the morning with your dick in my mouth without asking if you want that?”

“Well technically it is,” he said with a chuckled. “But you know how much I like… Oh”

I bet if his brain was mechanic, you could have heard the gears turning until the proverbial penny dropped. And bless his sweet heart, my Mark is nobody who would waste time. As soon as he had worked out what I meant to say, he’d already fished out the blindfold we keep in the back of the sofa and tied it around my head. I was wet in an instant as the ideas went through my mind what he might possibly have in store for me.

I felt his hand probe my pussy for any moisture and he could just as well have probed a saturated sponge. The sheer thought of him ordering me around had me gush like a firehose.

“Now, mom, I have no experience with this, so I guess you need to tell me what you want me to order you and how I know where the limit is.”

His voice sounded almost apologetic. He was apologizing for his inexperience.

“It’s called a Safe-word, sweetie. You can demand anything you want as long as you don’t hurt me and when I really don’t want to do what you order me to, I will say ‘Uncle’ and you need to stop what you’re doing immediately, okay?”

My sense of hearing, trying to make up for the loss of vision could pick up that his breathing was getting quicker. He was getting aroused by what I had just said.

**Mark**

The sheer magnitude of ‘You can demand anything you want’ was starting to sink in and I was getting rock-hard. I had actually thought about ordering mom around a bit, knowing that’s part of her sexuality since she had told me during that vacation on St. Kitts and Nevis. But the thought of hurting her by ‘ordering’ her to do something she didn’t like, had always put me off the idea. Now I felt like the village idiot. Working out something as easy as a code word should not have been an unsolvable puzzle for a straight-A student. But then, in sexual matters I was nearly illiterate so to speak. Even now my brain was working overtime, trying to work out how I was going to ‘use’ the freedom that I currently had in regards to mom’s intimate request.

I probed her pussy again and mom was still sopping wet.

“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you, mom?” I said with a teasing tone as she ground her hips to intensify my touch. “Look how wet you are.”

“Yes, I’m a very naughty girl,” she answered. The husky sound of her voice made me even harder.

Then an idea struck me. She was still lying on top of me, so I released my embrace around her waist, grabbed her buttocks and gave her a good shove. Not expecting my sudden forceful intervention, mom toppled over forwards and face-planted the cushions on the opposite end of the sofa, coming to a halt with her rear-end stuck in the air. She let out a someone belated squeal of surprise, but I was already in action, pushing down my boxers and lining up my throbbing erection with her exposed and well lubricated pussy.

Without as much as a warning I entered her slowly but steadily, amazed how huge my prized possession looked in comparison to mom’s slender frame. Okay, my eight inches are pretty big, but it is still a long way from one of those outlandish jackhammers you see in porn movies. Mom was fairly tight, mostly because I had been delivered by C-section, and she hadn’t had much sex in recent years, so getting that thing in was a bit of a challenge, at least if it was to happen without causing discomfort.

Normally the simple process of inserting myself into her slim frame was a process of minutes, but this time I simply shoved it in, determined to plunder that bald pussy like a pirate given a last chance to prove himself.  Mom’s groans signaled her discomfort, but as soon as I started moving that discomfort passed as she started to moan in raw lust. That she had been positively gushing since I had blindfolded her did certainly help a lot.

I don’t know why, but that day the sweet scent of mom’s arousal was even more potent than usual and it drove me wild. Inhaling her sweet scent, I started pounding her in earnest, causing nasty slapping sound every time my hips impacted with the firm flesh of her petite butt.

And I wasn’t the only one descending into a frenzy of lust if the sound-track was anything to go by.

“Yes sweetie, fuck mom’s naughty pussy. That’s so good, harder, harder!”

Well, unfortunately I was an artist, not a world-class athlete, so I couldn’t quite go as fast as mom would have liked, so I had to come up with a plan B. Scooping up some of that copious amount of mom-juice gushing out of her pussy, I soaked the index-finger of my right hand and rubbed it over her puckered rear-opening, elicited a gasp and several vulgar encouragements from my gorgeous lover. Satisfied that I had lubed her up enough, I pushed my digit past her tight gateway, eliciting a pleasured shriek from mom as I continued to pound her hard slowly finger-fucking her backdoor for added pleasure.

I was already close to exploding, but the additional stimulation did the trick. Mom pressed her face into the pillows and screamed so hard, her whole body was trembling. I had to hold her by the hips as she could barely keep upright, her small body convulsing in the throes of a mighty orgasm.

That pushed me over the top as well and I fully buried myself into her while spilling into her womb. I was still basking in the blissful aftershocks of my own climax when mom went completely limp and passed out cold.

**Lydia**

I had to live thirty-two years to experience an orgasms that was so intense I passed out. Okay, I had also passed out when going wild on myself with two dildos after my birthday date with Mark, but that had more to do with the fact that I had been blind drunk at the time.

When I finally came to, I realized I must have been out of it for several minutes, as I could feel that my battered pussy had dried, or my ever diligent son had actually cleaned up his mommy.

I was lying flat on my back, the blindfold removed. My head was resting in my son’s lap as he was gently and lovingly stroking my long hair. His smile was gorgeous and radiated joy and satiety.

“Well, hello there sleeping beauty,” he quipped and I couldn’t help but giggle.

“That was a pretty nifty trick for someone, who has lost his virginity only two months ago,” I answered in kind. I felt so weak, I don’t think I could have gotten up if I tried. Once again, my darling son, the best lover I ever had, had melted my bones into jelly again.

He blushed slightly, something that looks so ridiculously cute, I’ll probably never get tired of seeing it.

“You okay?” he asked. “I got a bit worried when you completely passed out cold.”

I nodded. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I just never came that hard and I’m not exactly a weight-lifter.”

That made him chuckle, most likely mixed with relief that nothing bad had happened.

“So, now that you’ve banged mommy into a quivering pile of jelly, wanna tell me how your day was?”

He laughed again. “Well, the editors conference was normal stuff. We just went over the illustrations they need next week and some ideas from the writers for the weekend’s comic. But then Joshua took me aside and took me to a meeting with two people from Breast Cancer Action, some charity and grassroots foundation. He showed them the bodypainting of the tiger head and they were asking if you would run with a themed bodypainting during the charity 5-mile run in September.”

I could hear in his voice that he really wanted me to do it. Not so much because of his fascination with seeing me naked. If he would do the painting properly there wouldn’t be much to hint at the fact that I was actually nude. But as far as his fascination with my body went, my breasts were only narrowly beaten by my tush, so the thought of breast cancer was probably something that concerned him greatly.

I didn’t have to think long about it. I was thirty-two, coming into an age group that was quite susceptible to this terrible illness and I was inordinately proud of my boobs. How many women my age can pride themselves that their boobs are still completely unaffected by gravity. If I could do something to support this charity group, why not?

And it wasn’t quite unselfish as well. A chance to ‘legitimately’ run naked was not something I would pass up, even more so when it was for a noble cause. Now I had to get it past the fuddy-duddies at USATF. If they would make a stink, I could still wear a small white biking that Mark would paint over.

**Mark**

I had expected mom to say yes, knowing that she had more than just slight exhibitionistic tendencies, but what I had not expected was that she was convinced that her friend Meri, Meredith Daxter, the girl that USATF had tried to shun over her Playboy shoot, would probably want to take part as well. Strangely I found the thought of painting another female body other than mom’s somewhat disconcerting.  

I’d seen the Playboy photos of Meri and had met her quite a few times. She was not only beautiful, but also had a great character. We really got along well, sometimes talking on the phone or meeting at the Bachlmayer’s restaurant for dinner, especially when mom was abroad. She knew I felt lonely after just a few days without mom, although she thought it was because I was a momma’s boy, unaware that there were entirely more intimate reasons for my missing her. My best friend was still Jonjo, but a close second was by now Meri. We had become fast friends, but I’d never had any sexual attraction to her, so the thought of having her undress and looking at her naked body for a long time while painting over her most private parts was strangely unsettling.

And so it happened that one day in early June 1992 we found ourselves in the Bachlmayer’s tavern while mom was in Bogota for a half-marathon, the last race before the Olympics.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Meri said and I stood to greet her. She gave me a friendly peck on the cheek, making her customary mock-sounds as if she had gotten some hair from my beard in her mouth. She was incorrigible. Now that she had arrived, Renate, a fellow German immigrant and waitress came over and we placed our orders in German. For the fact that she’d only learned it for a few years in high school and college, Meri spoke quite a good German, albeit with a thick accent. I reckoned she could probably easily hold her own during a visit to Germany at least with people who were willing to ignore the mangled r’s and botched umlauts.

“Don’t freak Marky,” she said with her voice barely above a whisper. “Lydia has told me all about the two of you and as far as your relationship is concerned, I don’t mind.”

My eyes went wide, but Meri just smiled at me. “Trust me, buddy, there are regions in this great nation where the two of you wouldn’t even register on the weird-o-meter and I can see just how good you are for each other.”

I had to chuckle at her joke. We’d only been living in America for four years, but of course we had come across the cliché of the rural south as a territory where one went to a family reunion to meet women.

After Renate had brought our drinks, Meri looked at me as I sensed something more was to come.

“We’ve also talked about the charity run and I want to run with Lydia, but she said you didn’t seem very comfortable with it?”

I could feel the familiar heat of a blush on my cheeks.

“Frankly, Meri, you are a good friend, but I’m a bit unsure about painting your body, unless you have a white bikini. It’s nothing personal, but there is only one woman that belongs naked so close to me, especially as a body painting would require me to …um … touch you in places.”

“You’re sweet, buddy,” she said in her best ‘awwwww’-voice. “Wouldn’t you think she’s told me about what it meant to have my body painted? I don’t care, in fact you are the only one I trust not to take advantage of the, well, arousal it can cause at times.”

The heat on my skin went up a notch further, making Meri smile a bit more.

“O-okay, we could try,” I relented, feeling still unsure.

“How about tomorrow?” she asked and my eyes went wide. “I’d really like to see something like that tiger head painted on me. In fact, your mom and I have a request.”

“W-what type of request?” I stammered, beginning to wonder at what temperature my skin would spontaneously combust. It felt like I was coming dangerously close to that heat. I must have been blushing a rather worrying shade of crimson.

“We are both favorites for at least one medal at Barcelona. I in the four-by-four hundred relay and the long jump and Lydia over ten-thousand and the marathon. For the case we both win at least one medal each, FHM International have offered us two million bucks for a joint nude shooting with your body-painting on our carcasses.”

“Two million bucks?” I asked back, scarcely believing the numbers. “Meri, have you forgotten how USATF went medieval on your ass after the Playboy shoot?”

“It’s cleared by USATF,” she explained. “The original offer was five million for a normal nude shoot, but they refused to allow that and the compromise is that they shoot us with obscuring body painting and the offer is reduced to one million for each. Lydia showed them the photo of the tiger head design and they were really appreciative of it. Hell, even Travis Carrington said it looked spectacular. It’s still a truckload of money, and you get a chance to have your new identity put out in the open. You can’t stay in the shadows forever.”

“Dammit, one million dollars. An old lady has to knit a hell of a lot of shawls for that,” I wolf-whistled. “If it were just about the money, I’d strip you down right here and paint the Mona Lisa all over your cute tush, but I’m afraid what it does to our friendship. I’m an eighteen-year-old guy. How much composure do you think I’ll have when presented with a body like yours? You aren’t exactly a Gargoyle, you know?”

This time it was Meri’s turn to blush. “Marky, Lydia wouldn’t have agreed if she didn’t know that. Do you know what she said when I presented her with the same reservations? She said ‘My sweetie is particularly fond of blowjobs’.”

Meri’s timing sucked big time as I had just taken a swig from my beer and it went down the wrong chute. We got a few questioning looks as I was coughing helplessly. She looked at me apologetically.

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Mom said that?” I asked between coughs. She smiled shyly and nodded.

“Marky, you’ve painted your mom’s body often enough. She knows what such an intimate procedure does to both model and artist. And she knows that I won’t steal you away from her. She trusts you.”

Thank god Renate came with the food and we could end this rather weird talk.

**Lydia**

I think I laughed for two minutes flat, when my completely flabbergasted sweet-heart called me in the evening and ‘confessed’ the talk he had with Meri over dinner.

Actually, I was waiting for the thud of him fainting when I told him that I expected him to be a gentleman and help Meri if she should get too aroused over her first body-painting experience and accept her help should it become to arousing for him. The only thing I asked him was to keep to certain methods and not go all the way, because Meri was still a virgin and should have her cherry popped by a special someone, when she would find a soul-mate as close to her as I was to him.

I knew of course that I was playing with fire to a degree. For all the well-preserved beauty of my own physique, Meri’s body was almost twelve years younger than mine, but our love wouldn’t be worth much if I couldn’t trust him to separate between casual sex and making love to me.

There was a secondary reason for my ‘generosity’. I simply don’t believe in the theory that one can have a fulfilled sex-life with only one partner for decades. It’s a nice little theory, but no matter how much you like pasta, if you have to eat spaghetti all your life, you’re going to end up getting bored with it. Too bad I hadn’t talked about that with Mark, because it should come back to bite us in the ass big time, but of course back then I didn’t know that yet.

I gave my blessing for Mark to do a body painting on Meri the next day to let her see if she could deal with the intimacy of the procedure.

**Mark**

Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick. When Meri came back from the bathroom, naked as a jaybird I was completely stunned. I had thought that the Playboy pictures were ‘tuned’ in some way, but the fact of the matter was, in real life my best female friend was looking even more spectacular, if that was possible. Her figure was a bit more ‘womanly’ than mom’s with wider hips. Since she was a sprinter and long jumper, her legs were much more muscular than mom’s, but not as freakish like those of Florence Griffith-Joyner for instance. And jeez, she must have had the biggest boobs of the entire female contingent in the Olympic team. They sagged ever so slightly, but I reckoned that was due to the sheer weight of the things. I wondered if her bras were made by nailing two circus tents together.

“Meri, how do you manage not to give yourself a black-eye when you run?” I asked, seeing her large jugs in real life for the first time.

“Sports bra,” she said with a giggle. “You have no idea how hard I have to squash them. They really get in the way if you try to run the stadium lap in under fifty seconds.”

Inspecting her body, this time more from a ‘artist inspects canvas’ perspective, I saw that she had waxed her nether region. In the Playboy shoot she had sported a narrow landing strip, but now her pussy was a bald as mom’s.

“Any preference for a design?” I asked.

“How about painting a business suit on me,” she suggested. “It’s relatively easy, so we won’t need eight hours for the first test. I know Lydia is okay with us ‘helping’ each other, but I know my sweet buddy. You’d still feel bad about it.”

I smiled gratefully at her and Meri gave me a peck on the cheek. Switching to artist mode, I suddenly felt much more relaxed despite the spectacular naked beauty in front of me.

She had been right. Painting a plain black business suit, with a white shirt and red tie was much easier as it consisted of many plainly colored areas. Meri still giggled like a school girl when I painted her nipples and it felt distinctly strange asking her to lie down on her back and spread her legs so I could paint over her naked pussy.

In the end it took only three hours to finish it and neither of us ended up needing a fondle, although I had gone hard a couple times and a few drops of her own juices were glistening on her painted pussy. Like most designs, she could have just as well gone into public with it, with the naughty bits cleverly obscured by dark paint and patterns. Meri absolute loved it and asked me to make some photos of her.

However, there is a downside to the body-painting. Since perspiration and other bodily fluids would wreck the paint if it was soluble in water, I use colors that need an organic solvent. It’s not toxic, but after soaking in a bathtub with the solvent added to the water she would have a rather unique body odor for the next two days. It wasn’t really stinking or anything, but she’d be smelling like a hospital cleaning lady for the next forty-eight hours.

Meri didn’t mind. She was absolutely thrilled with how it had looked on her body. There was no way now I could talk her out of joining mom for the charity run.

When mom called in the evening she mocked me in jest for not having done any fooling around with Meri, but I threw it back at her, telling her that I was saving all my spunk for her because I planned to fill her up until it flowed out of her ears when she came back. I think that was the first case of someone blushing via telephone. I couldn’t see it, but from mom’s thick, husky voice I could determine that at the very moment she was most likely blushing a color that human skin was not meant to adopt.

Well, mom, payback’s a bitch.


	7. Family Research

**Lydia**

When I came back from Bogota, Mark dropped the bomb on me. While I would be in Barcelona, he wanted to go to Germany, stay with Bea and start looking for his father. With me being in the news (hopefully) and him not allowed to be seen with me due to the still fresh new identity issue, he wanted to use the time to find the Frank that had put him into me.

It had only been a year since Mark had started forgiving his elusive father for what happened in the summer of ’73, but I realized he would not find the necessary closure unless he knew, who had donated the other half of his genetic make-up, seeing that he came so much after his father. I wasn’t really comfortable with bringing back a past that I thought I had made my peace with a long time ago, but Mark was insistent and of course my sister Bea sided with him, she always had.

I would have been angry with my younger sibling for always taking Mark’s side, but I knew very well that the two of them were very close, as Bea had been his Ersatz mom in those months between my flight from East Germany and his release to be reunited with me. If it wasn’t for her, Mark would never have made it through those months of separation. In the end I gave my blessing and Mark left a week before I was due to leave for Barcelona.

**Mark**

Coming back to Germany was weird. It had only been four years since we departed for America, but with the monumental changes in our life, of course mainly concerning the unique relationship with mom, our time in the U.S. of A. had sort of estranged me from the country of my birth. Back in America I still lapped up everything German, especially the food, but coming back to the country sort of felt surreal. Auntie Bea and her girlfriend Rita met me at Fuhlsbüttel Airport in Hamburg, the place where I was reunited with my beloved mom seven years ago.

It was the first time for me back in Germany since we’d come for Granny Aurelia’s funeral in 1990 and like back then, Rita beat a discreet retreat, leaving Bea to spend some time with me. I understood that I hadn’t seen her for two years, but I sort of felt like driving Auntie Bea’s girlfriend away.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Bea said and gave me a peck on my cheek. “Rita and I spend every day with each other and she’s a little shy. She is actually quite happy to leave me with you for a few days, because she knows how much I missed you. It’s been two years since I saw you the last time.”

It eased my worries a bit, but I still felt a little uncomfortable.

We’ve spent the next two days re-enacting the old days, mainly cuddling on the couch like Bea and I had done in those months I’d been separated from mom, but, unlike all those years ago, I wasn’t crying most of the time.

In a way Bea felt more like a mom to me than my actual mom, if you know what I mean. Mom felt more like a wife by now, while I had the loving but distanced relationship to auntie Bea that defined a ‘normal’ mother-son relationship, as defined by people, who thought a son falling in love with his mother was a deviant.

Once I had settled back into life in Germany, I packed my bag and took my leave from my aunt, catching a train towards the Baltic coast in East Germany. I arrived at Prerow on the Darß peninsula, where the camping site still existed - the site of my conception nineteen years ago.

Mom had never forgotten the day – fifteenth of June 1973, so hoping that the old registration data still existed, I had to search for a family with a son called Frank, who checked out on June 16th 1973 and after hours of searching, I found that my elusive father was named Frank Schmidt.

And as lucky a find as that may sound, it was a huge let-down. Schmidt as a surname in Germany is pretty much a catch-all term. Every second guy is named Müller, Meier or Schmidt.

It was clear that I would not make it through that search on my own, so I went to the district capitol Rostock and walked into a private detective agency, where people were falling over themselves to accommodate me. Those poor guys wasted their days chasing piss-poor East Germans who couldn’t repay their meagre loans. An American walking into their office, asking for help to find his father was creating quite a buzz.

What we needed was to find a Frank Schmidt, born in East Germany around summer 1958 and most likely having a job that required a university degree. The latter was pure speculation though, because having the brains for it didn’t mean you were allowed to go to university in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin wall. All it took was being mildly opposed to the party-line and you would end up as a lowly factory worker, even if you had Einstein’s brains.

The only other thing we knew was that he was most likely born in southern Saxony, as mom always said he had spoken in a ridiculously thick Saxon accent, which meant he must have come from somewhere around Chemnitz, back then called Karl-Marx-City where people were speaking with such an outlandish accent they could just as well be Mongolian.

I had barely re-acquainted myself with the concept of nude beaches for two days, when I was given a note upon returning to the hotel, asking me to visit the detective agency. With my heart beating so hart it must have shown as a pulsating blood vessel on my neck, I entered and the chief detective wordlessly pushed a photograph across the table.

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed, before I remembered that I was supposed to speak German. “That guy looks like an older version of me. That has got to be him! Who is he?”

“Professor Doctor Frank Schmidt,” the detective said. “I suppose your guess that he’s a brainiac wasn’t that far off. He lives in Berlin and works at the Humboldt University. We don’t know what field of research, but considering he’s a professor at thirty-four, he must be good at it. Are you sure he’s your father? You look at least twenty yourself.”

“I’m eighteen and a half, but yes, he was not only quick in making it to Professor,” I replied with a chuckle. “Do you have an address or number?”

He passed me an envelope with all the data they had collected and I wrote a generous check that was worth substantially more than what they had asked me for their services. Suffice to say I was given a very friendly farewell.

Back in my hotel I paced my room, trying to pick up the phone, but finding myself reluctant to. What do you tell a guy whom you never met, but who could be your father? In the end I formulated a plan and dialed the number, his work number in fact as at 3pm he should still be at the university.

I had barely time to compose myself when a male voice at the other end greeted me with a laconic ‘Schmidt’, reminding me that Germans habitually just state their name when being called. It was sort of ridiculous, considering that I was technically a German myself, but four years in America had changed me.

“My name is Mark McElway. Am I speaking to Professor Doctor Frank Schmidt?” I asked and I noticed the short pause at the other end. My new identity didn’t exactly sound German, yet I had posed the question with a pronounced Berlin accent that made me sound anything but Anglophone.

“I am Frank Schmidt,” he answered. He had still a distinctly Saxon twang, but it was not as exaggerated as I had expected.

“What I am going to ask you is going to sound outrageous,” I said. “But it is important to me. Did you, as a very young boy have sex with a very young girl named Lydia?”

There was a long pause at the other end and I could hear a deep breath before he replied with a distinct edge to his voice. “How much do you demand?”

I had to shake my senses back into order before I replied. “Dad, I didn’t call you to blackmail you. I’m not even calling to extort alimony from you. You are a Professor, do the math, I’m over eighteen. “

There was a sort of whimper on the other end and I feared he would just slam the receiver down and run, but after a while I heard a distinctly emotional reply.

“We conceived a child?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Mom rarely spoke of you. Not that she knew much to tell me. I spent the last week trying to find you, which is not the easiest thing if you’re looking for someone, whose surname is Schmidt.”

“Mark, can we meet?” he asked, audibly emotional. “I can never make up for what I did to poor Lydia, but I would very much like to see if I really have a child.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” I answered. “Right now I am in Rostock, so I’ll need a day to come down to Berlin. Just tell me the name of a good eatery and we’ll meet over dinner tomorrow.”

He told me the name of a restaurant and its address and then he asked me how he would identify me. I chuckled.

“Frank, do you have any photos of yourself at age eighteen?”

“Yes,” he answered, confusion evident in his voice.

“Take a marker and paint a beard and round glasses on it. Then you’ll know what I look like.”

I could hear a chuckle mixed with tears on the other end of the line.

**Lydia**

God, his timing sucked. On the very last evening before I was to leave for Barcelona Mark called me and announced in a ‘oh by the way’ sort of tone that he had found his father, a certain Professor Doctor Frank Schmidt. Well, at least I knew now that my premonition where Mark’s brilliant brains came from had been spot on. But seriously, sending my thoughts into turmoil mere days before I was supposed to compete at my first Olympic Games was singularly unhelpful.

On one hand I was happy for my darling. I could hear it in his voice how happy he was to find the last missing puzzle in his ancestry, but what would be the result of this? Would Frank suddenly demand to be part of our lives? After all he had abandoned me twenty years ago.

Meri – bless her heart – sensed my turmoil and without asking questions just held me close throughout the fight, soothing over my worries.

**Mark**

I was sitting in a Berlin Restaurant, remembering just how much I had missed the robust cuisine of Prussia. The Bachlmayer’s back in Pasadena were Bavarians, so they did of course promote their flavor of cooking, but nothing came close to the distinctly robust cooking of our old home region. I could hardly wait to order a huge Eisbein with Sauerkraut, something that would send most Americans running for cover.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt as if I was being watched and indeed I was. There, in the entrance stood an older version of me, almost the same build and definitely the same face, but sans beard.

“I can’t believe it,” he said and with a perplexed smile he handed me a photo. He had really taken a picture of his younger self and scribbled a beard over it. It looked eerily similar to me.

“Well, believe it,” I said with a lopsided grin, standing up to greet him. “I’m Mark and I don’t think that sort of resemblance is coincidental.”

We shook hands and took our seats, both sizing each other up for a while.  

“How have you found me?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to find Lydia for a couple of years ten years ago, but I never found as much as a good lead.”

I gave him a short summary of how I had found him, which made him remark in jest that I should perhaps look at a career as a detective, but after I told him our story to make him understand why he most likely had been looking in the wrong country to begin with, he was close to tears, realizing that his roll in the hay back in ’73 had had more consequences than just an unexpected teen-pregnancy. After all my birth was responsible for mom being disowned by her own parents.

“It’s ironic,” he said with a fair amount of self-depreciation. “I’m a professor. I teach my students about the do’s and don’ts of sexual relations every day, but I have almost destroyed a life because I couldn’t keep it in my pants as a fourteen-year-old.”

“I don’t think you were wearing any,” I quipped, which cheered him up a bit. “If I remember correctly, Prerow was a nudist resort back in the day.”

He nodded and chuckled despite himself. Meanwhile the waitress brought our food and we both dug into it. It had been almost a decade since I had had a proper Berlin Eisbein for the last time and I savored every bit of it.

“As far as mom and I am concerned, I can speak for both of us that we’ve forgiven you, although I must admit that it took me a lot longer, because I only learned the whole truth about a year ago. We both grew up to be decent people and we’re happy with our lives, so I don’t think you need to beat yourself up over it. I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of finding you, just so I could berate you. That’s not my character. And as mom once said, no matter how clumsy you two kids were, you actually managed to make me and you made a really good one.”

That broke him out of his self-reproach and he had to fight his laugh long enough to swallow the last bite. But then he properly guffawed until tears welled up in his eyes. A few people looked strangely at us, but we both didn’t mind and since we were in Germany, they soon minded their own business again.

“Well, she definitely hasn’t lost her sharp tongue,” he said, still chuckling. “Did Lydia ever marry?”

I shook my head, and I don’t know why, but I felt I could trust the man and that he deserved the whole truth, so I ended up telling him in a lowered voice about the true nature of my relationship with mom. He merely nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world that his long-lost son would live in an incestuous relationship with his own mother. That startled me.

“Frankly, I was expecting you to run out of here in an offended huff or wring my neck,” I half-asked, half-stated.

 “I hold the chair for sexual science at the Humboldt-University and sexology is a wee bit more than the science of...,” he explained, making an obvious hand-gesture. “The two of you have a small age difference and you’ve depended heavier on one another than your average mother and son pairing. That are two major factors that lead to relationships like yours. For all it’s worth, not that you need my blessing, but you have it.”

That took me by surprise, but it was a good surprise. After Jon, Rhonda, Bea, Jonjo and Meri, he was already the sixth person who said it was okay to be in love with mom. Even though I was determined to take the fight to the whole universe if necessary, the thought of people being aware and okay with it was strangely encouraging, even if I had known them for no more than a few hours. 

“Is Lydia in Berlin?” he ventured carefully, but I shook my head.

“Perhaps she wants to meet you one day,” I said. “But I don’t want to give you wrong hopes. Mom made her peace with what happened a long time ago and there is a good chance she won’t want to dredge up the past. But if you want to see her, watch the Olympics. She competes for the USA in the ten-thousand meters and the marathon.”

We relocated to a nearby pub, sitting and talking for hours until we were well buzzed from the many beers we’d shared. When I was back in my hotel I fell asleep quickly, content in the knowledge that I had solved that last puzzle in my ancestry.

We met again the next day and he showed me around his university, even offering to put in a good word for me, should I wish to study back in Germany, but I politely declined. As much as I still liked my old home, my life was now based in America and I had already been accepted into the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. I didn’t promise him that we would ever be able to build a true father-son relationship, but what I could promise was that we would stay in touch.

I had mom and he had his own family with a wife and two little girls aged three and five and we both agreed it was a bit sudden to drop a stepson and a half-brother on them out of the blue. His wife Jana knew about his early youth shenanigans, and now with the Olympics coming up he could start to introduce his own family to that other part in his life that he had only just learned about.

We exchanged addresses and telephone numbers and I took my leave. I wanted to spend the next day at Aunt Bea’s, watching the opening ceremony and then I would fly back to California.

**Lydia**

It was a strange feeling walking into the Olympic stadium surrounded by so many other athletes representing the US of A. Life had cheated me out of two Olympics and I could finally soak up the magnificent atmosphere. I would have loved to share this moment with Mark, having him sit somewhere in the audience, maybe even spotting him to throw him a kiss, but since his new identity was still fresh, we couldn’t do that and I knew he was at Bea’s place watching this live on TV, and so was Frank in Berlin, probably just explaining to his family, who that slender brunette in the first row behind the flagbearer was.

Mark had told me about the two meetings with his long-lost father and I must admit that I was quite surprised by his mature reaction to it. He had gotten one thing right. At least at the moment I was not really interested in seeing Frank again. It was good to know that he was alive and well and I was glad for Mark that he had initiated a tentative contact, but that was as far as I wanted to go back to the past. It was ancient history and my life now revolved entirely around my darling Mark. His male ancestor had chosen to remove himself from my life almost twenty years ago and he had his own family now. There was no need to complicate things by suddenly turning up too.

Meri was walking next to me, even more mesmerized by the atmosphere than I was. I’d already seen some large scale competitions, like European and World Championships, but for her it was the first time. But what we had in common was that we were both first-timers in regards to having a chance to come home with a medal.

**Mark**

I opened the door and let the last two guests in. Granted with Jonjo, John and Rhonda it wasn’t exactly a large-scale audience, but then I wasn’t the type for huge parties and all of them knew that I wasn’t only watching my mother, but also the woman I was madly in love with, so I didn’t need to watch my tongue.

By the time John and Rhonda had selected their drinks and sat down, the field was already lined up. When the camera panned along the first row in a close-up shot, I gasped. Normally runners leave any jewelry in the changing room, but mom was wearing earrings which I had never seen on her before. They were golden stud earrings in the form of a heart and an M on top of it. The message was not lost on anyone in the room and Rhonda even sniffled a bit, moved by mom’s hidden message.

The race started and mom lost no time sprinting towards the business end of the field but kept herself somewhere at position seven or eight which confused Jonjo. John knew of course what was going on, but he obviously wanted to leave it to me to explain.

“What’s she doin’, man?” he asked pointing at the two Africans upfront. “Those to ladies are gonna leave her in the dust.”

I crouched down next to the screen and pointed at them. “She’s Ethiopian and that lady here is Kenyan.”

Jonjo nodded.

“These two are also Ethiopian and Kenyan,” I explained pointing at the two runners directly in front and behind mom respectively. “The two in the lead are cannon fodder. Their job is to tear the field apart and they’ll blow up after seven or eight kilometers, then the other two will deal with whoever is still left.”

“So Mrs. K is doin’ the same too?” he asked back, seeing that Melinda Kennuck was trading the lead with the two Africans.

“Nope,” I said. “Melinda’s just a dumb bitch and too arrogant to listen when mom told her not to take the bait.”

“Mark,” John gently chided me for my use of language.

“Sorry John, but she made the loudest noises, trying to get mom thrown out of the team after Utrecht. Yet mom still wanted to help her and if she’d have listened, she would win a medal. Instead she’ll blow up.”

It would only take twenty minutes for my prophecy to come true. The two African ‘hares’ and Melinda Kennuck blew a gasket and went rapidly backwards and only a group of four remained - the Kenian and Ethiopian favorites, mom and a girl from China who redefined the term small. I bet you could have knocked her over by coughing at her through a straw.

As they went into the penultimate lap the two Africans put the hammer down. Jonjo, John and Rhonda screamed at the TV to cheer mom, but I had seen her run often enough; she didn’t have the ability to follow such rapid pace changes and neither, apparently, had that Chinese poster-girl for the World Hunger Aid. The two dropped back leaving the Africans to fight it out over the remaining six hundred meters. Mom set a steady pace putting about a second and a half between herself and the Chinese and so it ended.

The Ethiopian won the gold, the Kenyan silver and mom brought it home two seconds ahead of the Chinese girl. She’d won a Bronze medal in her weaker discipline. While we were all celebrating I looked back at the screen to see a very sourly and completely knackered looking Melinda Kennuck limp home in an anonymous fourteenth position.

A few hours later, my guests had already gone, I watched an inconsolable Meri miss a medal in the long jump. German ace Heike Drechsler was too far ahead and even Jackie-Joyner Kersee had to cross the seven meters by a good margin to secure a bronze. Meri ended up sixth with six meters sixty-six. The devil was afoot.

I called her two hours later and she was still in tears and mom, bless her, she had foregone celebrating her own medal to be there to console poor Meri. I could hear her voice right next to our friend, who had missed her own personal best by almost thirty centimeters. But even reaching that she would still have ended up fourth. The favorites had simply been too strong that day. I told her that in a soft voice, hearing that she calmed down a bit, but she was still sniffling.

From the way her voice sounded, I could tell she was holding the receiver between her own head and mom’s so that she could listen in, too and I decided to unleash my secret weapon.

“Listen, Meri, you couldn’t do anything today, but the day after tomorrow I want to see you wiggle those big boobs of yours after you won your medal in the four-by-four, got me?”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered, finally unable to fight a giggle while I heard mom double over in hysteric laughter. It was contagious and all three of us ended up sharing a nice guffaw.

**Lydia**

I couldn’t believe he’d done that. I knew that Mark was a bit shy, especially when I asked him about details of that body-painting session with Meri, so it was telling how much he liked her that he overcame his shyness and tell her something that bold, especially since he knew I was listening in.

But it was exactly what Meri needed and we ended up celebrating my medal and practicing boob-wiggling for Mark. That boy was in for a surprise.

**Mark**

She’d done it. Running in the second slot Meri had passed the baton in the lead, but the two Russians in the third and fourth slot were too fast and our team ended up winning silver. Meri was completely out of her mind in joy, but the real kicker came when she was dragged in front of the ESPN microphone, more babbling than really saying much of news value, but that changed after she had asked the interviewer if she could pass on a private message.

With that she grinned like a Cheshire cat, puffed out her chest and wiggled her assets, which were unfortunately squashed into a tight sports bra. “That’s for you Marky. Thank you so much, buddy!”

Poor old Chuck Pierce, the interviewer, he was completely bewildered and I had just shot my latest swig of beer all across the room through my nostrils. I couldn’t believe she’d really done that.

“I-i have to ask,” Chuck said, needing a moment to regain his composure. “What was that all about? Who is Marky and what has he done to earn such a delightful greeting?”

Meri threw her head back laughing and when she had composed herself she was sporting a beaming thousand-watt smile.

“Mark is a very good friend of mine and a great artist. He’s sitting back home in Pasadena and has probably just dropped his drink.”

“Got that right, hon,” I chuckled while wiping the drops of beer from the screen.

“Two days ago I was completely devastated over my result in the long jump. Lydia, Mark’s girlfriend, had won the Bronze over ten-K, but instead of celebrating she tried to cheer me up and Mark called in too, saying that he wanted to see me wiggle my stuff after winning the medal today. That got me out of my funk. Thank you so much Marky, love ya buddy!”

This time even Chuck Pierce couldn’t keep a straight face and chuckled. “Well Mark in Pasadena, it seems ESPN has one very lucky viewer right now.”

**Lydia**

Oops, that was one cat out of the bag we hadn’t quite planned to release yet and of course John was on the phone mere minutes later, panicked about what Meri had just disclosed.

“Calm down, John. He was to be introduced with the FHM shoot anyway, and since Meri and I have won our medals it’s going to happen.”

“What if some of his high school people still remember him?”

“They remember a skinny, mustached brainiac, interested mainly in airplanes and chemistry. He never let on that he’s an artist. Well you know why. You know who his inspiration was.”

John could actually laugh about that, knowing that my darling son had spent a lot of time drawing naked pictures of his mommy.

“John, look,” I continued. “I didn’t plan on it either, but I won’t hold it against Meri, it was an impulsive act and she had the presence of mind to keep saying from who he really is. He’s still registered in Germany as Mark Karrass, so for all intents and purposes he lives there with his aunt, because he wants to study there. That’s as much as the yellow press needs to know. The rest is your job. That’s what you’re being paid for. And don’t worry I won’t have forgotten it by the time we negotiate the next contract extension.”

“Oh you will have to raise my salary, Lydia, you bet,” he chuckled.

“John, contact Mark. He has recently re-established contact with his father, and Frank knows everything. That could help keeping up the story.”

**Mark**

Meri had called, apologizing profoundly, but I had brushed it off. It was going to happen sooner or later and John and I had already set everything in motion.

Frank, all too happy to make amends for his mistakes twenty years ago, had managed to get virtual me matriculated at his university studying chemistry. We had simply exploited a loop hole. I still had dual citizenship. In my German passport I was Mark Karrass, in the American one I was Mark McElway. The identity change had never been communicated back to Germany and we certainly wouldn’t wake that particular pack of sleeping dogs.

So far all intents and purposes, the skinny mustached kid people remembered Mark Karrass as was studying Chemistry in Berlin, while America’s big running star Lydia Karrass was recently found to have a boyfriend called Mark McElway, a bulky, glasses-wearing, bearded man who wasn’t very fond of being shown around to the public.

The tabs lapped it up, selling all those ‘findings’ as a big investigative success and for the time being there was no longer any need to live in the shadows. Now it was just a matter of waiting if mom would manage to win the gold in the marathon. 


	8. Blackmail

**Lydia**

At the starting line of the marathon race, I felt like someone had dumped a handful of ants into my pants. I was so nervous I couldn’t stand still for even five seconds. I was thirty-two, which was getting close to the best age for a marathon runner, but these were my first Olympics. All the girls around me who were my age were competing for the second or third time already. It was my big chance to finally score a big one and it would be hard enough as I was pretty sure some of those ladies I was up against had had a little more than just bread and water for breakfast.

I had hoped that the unexpected Bronze medal over 10K would take the pressure off a bit, but instead it actually increased it. I hadn’t come to the Olympic Games, after missing two of them, to come third. I wanted a gold. I wanted something that would make my darling son burst with pride, and hopefully make him so horny that as soon as I came home, he would throw me on the kitchen table and fuck me rigid. Too bad I couldn’t run naked. That would do the trick even if I finished in thirtieth position.

The gun went off and I immediately knew I was in for torture, as the Africans ran off like they’d stolen something. The Russians had been anonymous all season, but you could never count out Fedorova, the girl who’d run topless with me in Utrecht the year before. Apart from that I had to look out for a Japanese girl and of course Katrin Dörre from Germany. Like me she was born in East Germany and went through the same system as I, although I never knew if she was on the ‘medical program’. Since she didn’t have a beard I gave her the benefit of doubt.

It was a good thing I had also trained for the 10K, because the Africans set a murderous pace on the first few kilometers. The pace settled after ten kilometers, but I was quite knackered already. The Africans had overcooked it big time and went backwards, leaving two Japanese girls to pick up the pace, while Fedorova was never more than one or two positions away from me. The Russian watched me like a hawk and so did Katrin. She still knew me from the short time we’ve competed for East Germany and she knew I was a safe bet. Staying with me meant being there or thereabouts when the final attack was launched.

The crazy-ass antics of the Kenyans and Ethiopians had dumped a bucket of lactic acid into everyone’s legs and the Japanese set a relatively modest pace over the next twenty kilometers. It was clear that nobody of the front-runners would come close to improving her personal best. Mine was at 2:22:45, over a minute slower than the world record at the time. From the intermediate times we’d been given I reckoned we wouldn’t even beat the 2:30 mark.

After thirty kilometers I had recovered quite well, but I still felt those brutal first kilometers. It was time to play with our Japanese friends a bit. I ignored my protesting muscles, accelerated to take the lead and floored it. We passed some big screens, allowing me to see that the remaining field was hemorrhaging people out the back and we were down to ten runners by the time we reached kilometer thirty-three. The two Japanese wrestled their way back in front again and once in the lead they slowed things down a bit again.

At kilometer thirty-six the impatience of youth got the better of Fedorova and she sprinted off, creating a gap on the field quickly. I upped my pace a bit, slowly reeling her back in. By the time I had caught up with her, only the stronger one of the Japanese was still with me. Fedorova, having shot all her ammo too early started dropping back at thirty-nine.

Reaching kilometer forty-one it was me against the Japanese girl, who refused to do any work, staying in my shadow all the time; so it would come down to a final sprint, which was normally not my strong suit, but then no marathon runner is good at sprinting.

I was momentarily overwhelmed by the deafening noise as my opponent and I entered the stadium for the final lap. When we went into the last corner with about two hundred meters to go, the Japanese passed me and tried to sprint off, but I remembered Meri’s advice to wait for the hundred-meter mark and that’s what I did. Shadowing my opponent, I gathered my last reserves and put the hammer down over the last one-hundred, my head lolling about as if it didn’t really belong to my body anymore, making me dizzy. I didn’t even realize that I had left the Japanese eating my dust, as exhaustion and dizziness made me collapse in a heap as soon as I had crossed the line.

**Mark**

I belted out a loud war cry, grabbed Rhonda’s cheeks between the palms of my hands and planted a kiss on her lips. She looked at me in wide-eyed surprise, which made me realize what I had just done. I felt a Blitz-blush discolor my face before I saw that John and Jonjo were slapping their knees in laughter and even Rhonda joined them after overcoming the momentary shock of my unexpected victory-smooch.

Looking back at the screen, we saw mom still lying on the track, desperately gasping for air. Someone had thrown a blanket over her, and when the camera panned closer I saw Meri crouched down next to her, laughing and crying in joy at the same time. One of mom’s legs was perched up on Meri’s shoulder as she stretched her foot to release a cramp.

The telephone rang and on the other side was Frank, completely beside himself in happiness, congratulating me over and over again, knowing that he couldn’t give her those best wishes in person. I thought the gesture was actually quite moving. By the time I had ended the call, mom was back on her feet, doing the slowest victory lap in recorded history, Fedorova, the Russian, at her side. She had come third.

Meri’s presence at the track wasn’t a coincidence. Two of the runners for the 4 by 100m relay had come down with a stomach bug and as Meri had been the fastest in the 4 by 400, she was selected to stand in. The final was about two hours after mom’s victory and with the two fastest runners thankfully still available, the Russians were the only true opponents. Without that last-minute bad luck, the Gold had actually been considered a mere formality for our team.

Meri was selected for the starting slot and as soon as the gun went off, she ran like girl possessed, wiggling those sports-bra-squashed boobs even more enthusiastically as she had done for the camera.

She passed the baton closely behind the Russians. Evelyn Ashford did the rest. She passed her Russian opponent and the following two runners never looked back. For the second time that day I whooped and cheered, but this time I could stop myself in time before I invaded the personal space of John’s wife again.

Meri went absolutely bonkers, having won a gold in a discipline she wasn’t even meant to compete in and I had no doubt that the disappointing long-jump was the furthest from her mind at that point.

**John**

Being the manager of an Olympic athlete who has just won two medals is the most rewarding thing in this business. Mind you, from a PR point of view Lydia is pure gold anyway. Her background as a former East German would be enough, but then there is the Playboy shoot, the stunts in Vienna and Utrecht and some of the better journalists have even gotten wind of the upcoming FHM shoot of her and Meredith Daxter.

But it’s of course not all roses. Saying her reaction to her obvious attraction to her son was a bit headless-chicken would be a massive understatement. With Lydia you never know what happens next. She might be thirty-two, but in her impulsiveness she reminds me of a teenager. Maybe that is because she was never allowed to be one. After all she had to assume responsibility for a child at the age of fourteen.

It had been almost two weeks since Lydia’s big win and the Olympics were already over, but she was still in Europe. She was to run two exhibition races in Hamburg and Milan. You can compare it to all those Criterium races that cyclists go through right after the Giro d’Italia or the Tour de France. In between she had planned to visit her Grandfather and her sister in Germany. She wouldn’t be back in Pasadena for another week.

Strangely we hadn’t heard from Mark for several days, which was strange. Normally he would call once in a while when Lydia was away for a prolonged period of time.

Rhonda and I were on our way back from Burbank after spending a few days in our holiday residence on St. Kitts and Nevis. Driving along a country road, I saw some poor drunk bugger lying in the ditch, which I unfortunately not too uncommon in these parts, but Rhonda’s screech nearly made me jump out of my skin.

“Stop! Turn back! That’s Mark!”

I didn’t quite understand what Rhonda was on about, but I stopped, put the car in reverse and when we came back to the motionless figure I realized she was right – the beard, the glasses, his ‘Pasadena Track Club’ shirt - we were looking at the passed out body of Lydia’s son, eight miles from his home, lying in a pool of his own vomit.

Rhonda jumped out and completely ignored the bile, frantically checking if he was still alive and seeing the relief on her face, it seemed like he had ‘only’ passed out drunk.

It didn’t make sense. Yes, we were guilty ourselves of once in a while buying beer for him, as he couldn’t yet do so legally, but Mark was quite responsible in his consumption. I had never seen him more than well-buzzed, but there he was completely and utterly wasted. He was barely conscious and my first instinct was to get him to a hospital.

In the end, we cleaned him up as good as you can at the road-side and put him on the back-seat, driving home slowly, trying not to upset him. As much as I like the boy, I wasn’t fancying him puking into my car.

When we reached their home, we carried him in and Rhonda laid out a few towels on the bathroom floor. We laid him down and I left her to cleaning him up. Meanwhile I went down to the living room, looking for clues what had triggered this and I didn’t have to search long as a video-cassette case and a letter were lying on the table. I could see that he must have been crying, as the paper showed the typical wrinkles that appear when paper gets wet and dries again.

The letter was a piece of pure vitriol.

_Hello Lydia,_

_You German slut stole the medal that was mine to win. Have a good look at that tape and decide if that’s something you want your new boyfriend to see. Don’t bother coming to me, I’m not open to negotiation and the original is stored in a safe place. You will be pace maker for me at the next US championships, the Pan-American games and the next World Championships. You better help me win these or that new boyfriend of yours will dump you after seeing what a slut you are!_

_Melinda_

I was about to jump out of my skin in pure rage, but I was interrupted by Rhonda calling me from the bathroom for help to get poor Mark into bed.

We tucked him in a lateral recumbent position, in case he’d vomit again and left him to sleep off his intoxication. Rhonda was silently weeping as she cleaned up the bath and put the soiled clothes in the washing machine. Since we were brother and sister, trying to have kids would be too dangerous for us, considering the chance of genetic defects. But she had definitely developed some protective, perhaps even motherly feelings for Mark and finding him in such a mess was hard for her. Somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling it would get even worse.

Rhonda checked on Mark again, holding her ear near his face so her keen sense of hearing could make sure that he was breathing properly.  After that she followed me down and I filled her in on the letter I’d found and I wasn’t quite sure what mood she was in, furious fear probably describes it the best.

“Let’s see that tape,” Rhonda demanded. “I bet it’s still in the VCR.”

What we saw shocked the daylights out of us.

It started with a celebration in the American House in the Olympic village and according to the timestamp it was the day after Lydia had won the marathon and Daxter had won her unexpected gold in the 4 by 100-meter relay. I knew bad things were about to come when I saw how much both of the girls drank. We fast-forwarded a couple of times, but you could actually see how they were filled up and it involved quite a lot of talking them into it, with Melinda Kennuck toasting them quite a lot.

Later the scene changed and we saw that the two massively drunk girls had retired to a bedroom and judging by the voice it was Melinda Kennuck who filmed them being engaged in a sixty-nine, eating out each other’s pussies. Rhonda begged me to turn it off, saying we had no business watching that, which is saying a lot as both Rhonda and I have strong voyeuristic tendencies, but this wasn’t a couple willingly letting us watch. We couldn’t even be sure they were aware of what they were doing.

But then Rhonda’s curiosity was peaked as we heard mumbling which sounded like someone was talking to the person who filmed this. It was completely intelligible, but Rhonda’s eyes narrowed to angry slits.

“We need headphones.” She seethed and paused the replay.

Somewhat shocked by her strong reaction, I walked back up and looking into Mark’s room, I found a pair of quite expensive headphones. I took the opportunity to check on him and he was still sleeping in the position we’d left him. I knew he was sleeping as he was snoring at a volume that would have put a logging camp to shame.

I went back down and handed the headphones to Rhonda. She rewound the tape, listened, rewound, listened and then…

“That fucking perfidious bitch! I’ll rip off her tits and feed them to the dog!”

Rhonda never swore and I actually recoiled hearing her unload like a trucker.

“Give me a fucking piece of paper and something to write. I’ll nail that fucking bitch to the wall so hard she’ll beg for a firing squad!”

God almighty, Rhonda had dropped more f-bombs in five minutes than she had in the last two years, so whatever her sharp sense of hearing had picked up must have been truly horrible.

She rewound the tape again and wrote down what she was hearing. She was just done when I saw two half-naked guys walk into the room, both wearing nothing but underpants. Each of them was on a direct approach to one of the naked girls who had passed out by now.

The tape stopped abruptly.

“So basically without knowing what was said, I have the same knowledge as him and to me it looks as if those two maggots are going to rape them,” I said.

The solution was obviously on Rhonda’s transcript and she handed it to me.

_UM=unknown male, MK=suspected Melinda Kennuck_

_UM: What you doing Melinda, thought you wanted two guys to play?_

_MK: I never said that_ I _wanted to play with you, look there are your two playmates_

_UM: They look busy already and too drunk to know any of us from Adam. What exactly are you proposing?_

_MK: Hey come on, you guys were drooling all over them all night. Have you any idea how hard it was to get them to drink enough? You should be thanking me that I give you such an opportunity._

_(sounds of girls climaxing and passing out)_

_UM: Fuck! You filled them up and expect us to rape them for whatever sick tape you’re filming? You’re fucking sick, Melinda! Come on Al, we need to tuck them in. Then we deal with that sick bitch here._

No wonder Mark went off his rocker. That sick bitch was trying to facilitate rape and wanted to film it to blackmail Lydia. That was the sickest thing I’ve seen in my career. I collected the tape, the letter and Rhonda’s transcript. Leaving Rhonda behind to keep a watchful eye on Mark, I drove off. Next stop: Pasadena Police Department.

**Rhonda**

That bitch was heading straight to the gates of hell. Coming back from the Police Department, John had gone home to deal with the aftermath of this, while I stayed in Lydia and Mark’s home to keep an eye on the boy.

And god almighty was he sick the next day. On top of believing that his mom had been raped, the poor boy was so hung-over he couldn’t keep anything down. I’ve never seen a grown man cry so helplessly and more than once I was close to losing it myself.

Finally in the afternoon I had him lucid enough that a Police officer could take his statement. The good news was that Melinda Kennuck was already in custody, charged with assault, blackmail, stalking and attempted facilitation of rape. Lydia would have to undergo a medical check to prove the testimony of the two male athletes that they had not had sex with either of the two women.

According to their statements, Melinda Kennuck had lured them in under the pretense of looking for sexual partners for a threesome, but instead wanted them to rape the unconscious women to get material with which to blackmail her team-internal opponent, Lydia. Meri Daxter would have been mere collateral damage.

The bad news was that any chance of establishing Mark McElway as Lydia’s boyfriend were out of the window. John had launched a story through a friend of his that proved how all the yellow-press rags had mixed up the new identity of Lydia’s son that he had assumed for privacy reasons, and that they had blown it in the process. A lot of sleazy magazines had now a lot of egg on their face and the Pasadena Mariner had the biggest story of their history, but the chances that Lydia and Mark could ever live openly as a couple, let alone marry, were now close to zero – at least for the foreseeable future.

Mark’s testimony was a story of utter sadness and confusion. Having seen the tape, he had been convinced that his mom had been raped and he wanted to fly to Europe to be with her. Not having a driver’s license, he had tried to WALK to Burbank airport, already heavily drunk and drinking more along the way until he ended up in the ditch.

I’m sure there are smart-asses out there, who would say that his reaction was not exactly mature, but what do you expect? The boy was eighteen and a half and believed a loved one had been raped. Do you really expect a calm and collected reaction? And that’s not even counting that he loves his mother a lot more than your average son, but that was nothing the police needed to know.

What surprised me was the reaction of Mark after his statement was taken. The fact that his mom had been filmed was angering him more than what she was doing at the time.

“I always thought this would happen at some point,” Mark said, which surprised me. Considering that it had only been five months since he had finally made love to her – yes they told us about his birthday – I would have expected a jealousy tantrum.

He told me how his mother had given her ‘blessing’ to fool around with Meri should things get too hot during their body painting and how he thought it was Lydia’s way of ‘introducing’ Meri for more intimate encounters.

“Look,” Mark explained. “I think there is some kind of love between them. It’s not the same as me and mom, but Meri is definitely more than just a friend for her. You have to remember that mom didn’t think twice and stripped buck-ass naked to help Meri during the Utrecht marathon. As good a friend as he is, but I don’t think I would do that for Jonjo.”

I had to laugh. His best friend had actually dropped by during the day and I really liked him with his Bob Marley antics.

“Doesn’t that make you, I don’t know, jealous?” I asked.

He looked at me and despite probably still feeling the effects of the hangover, he smiled. “You aren’t squeamish Rhonda, are you?”

“No,” I said with a giggle. “I’m thirty-six, I’ve been around the block a few times.”

“You have no idea what it does to a part of my body just thinking of watching the two of them do it with each other. I love both of them. Well, I can’t really describe it. Meri, she’s a good friend, a _really_ good friend. It’s not the kind of love I have for mom, as in wanting to spend the rest of my life with her, but there’s definitely a sort of love there. That make sense?”

I smiled at the sweet confusion of a young boy who experienced the full complexity of love.

“It does make sense, Mark. There is no simple definition for love. It comes in many different flavors. There is only one you can be _in_ love with. That’s your mother in your case, but you can have strong feelings for others as well. I’m nearly twice your age and that’s how long it took me to work it out.”

To my surprise he didn’t answer, he just hugged me and I slung my arms around his neck to return the gesture.

“Am I interrupting something?”

We both looked to the door and John stood there, smiling at us, but soon his smile was gone again.

“Mark, your mother and Meredith are currently at the hospital undergoing the medical check,” he reported. “Do you feel confident enough to face them or do you want me to handle it. I could book them into a hotel for the time being.”

Again Mark surprised me.

“John, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your and Rhonda’s help. But this is my problem to deal with and mom and Meri belong here, not in a hotel; so please don’t get it the wrong way when I ask you to leave.”

“That was the answer I’d hoped to hear, kiddo.”

I could actually hear a bit of emotion in Johns voice. Mark was still a bit unsteady on his feet, weakened by the ordeal he had put his young body through, but he handled himself quite well. He disappeared into the bathroom and when he came back out, there was no hint that less than twenty-four hours ago he had nearly choked on his own vomit in a road-side ditch. In fact, the beard and the glasses were gone. He had returned to his old identity, now that the old one was blown.

He kissed me and thanked me over and over again until John interrupted the huggy-feely moment with one of his jokes.

“If you continue to woo my wife, I might have to kill you.”

Mark just grinned and answered in kind.

“Take her out and show her a good time. She deserves no less.”

Both men laughed and gave each other a short man-hug before we left Mark and Lydia’s home, confident that he was grown up enough to handle this situation. Just for good measure I made a mental note to call him in the evening to see if he needed any help.

**Mark**

I had checked all the rooms, making sure that no vomit buckets or anything were left standing around. The bed sheets were in the washing machine, replaced with fresh ones. This is where those seven months of de-facto abandonment came in handy.

About an hour after Jon and Rhonda had left, I heard a taxi stop in front of our house and I saw mom and Meri step out. I could see it on their faces that they were afraid of what was about to happen. I had never expected that guilt and fear could be so clearly etched on someone’s face. I awaited them in the corridor and when mom stepped in, she stopped dead in his tracks, her hand clutching one of Meri’s and I could see that they were both close to just bursting into tears.

Wordlessly I stepped forward and took mom’s luggage off her hands, putting it aside. I hugged her and gave her a kiss on the mouth. It wasn’t our usual soul-crashing French kiss, but one that conveyed clearly enough that I wasn’t going to tar and feather her. Afterwards I did the same to Meri. She didn’t have any luggage as she had already been in Pasadena for several days, while mom had been brought to the hospital straight from the airport. I grabbed mom’s luggage and carried it off, leaving them standing where they were.

When I came back they were still standing in the door like Lot’s wife’s lost twins. I made an inviting hand gesture towards the living room.

“Do you want to come in before I read you the riot act, or do you want to get it over with immediately?”

Both of them were staring at me like a deer in head lights and walked into the living room, still holding on to each other’s hand as if it was a life-line.

I got three cups from the cupboard to serve the coffee I’d brewed. I was certainly not in the mood for anything alcoholic and I doubt any of them was. I filled them and sat down across from mom and Meri.

“You utter idiots!” I groaned. “You both know you couldn’t hold a drink if your life depended on it. Why in the name of all that’s holy did you allow Melinda fucking Kennuck of all people to fill you up like useless teenage bimbo’s?”

I could see the naked shock on mom’s face. The last time I had sworn like that, was when I had had a go at her estranged parents two years before. Not surprisingly it was Meri, who answered.

“Mark, we’re sorry. We can’t tell you how sorry we are. We’d both won our first gold the day before and we’d actually planned to get a bit tipsy and celebrate. When Melinda began to be friendly, we thought she wanted to end her bitching and make amends. She’s the only one we don’t get along with and we were hoping for that to change.”

“Well, I guess we can rule that out by now, can’t we?” I snorted sarcastically. “Okay, that makes you naïve instead of stupid; but have you any idea how thoroughly the two of you have wrecked _any chance_ of mom and I ever marrying?”

They must have misinterpreted that as some pre-cursor to breaking up my relationship with mom as both started to bawl.

“Mark, I’m not trying to steal Lydia from you,” Meri pleaded amid sobs. “It was an accident. We were too drunk to know what we were doing.”

I softened my voice for my reply. “That’s bullcrap Meri. You love mom and she loves you, it was bound to happen at some point. I’m not concerned that the two of you made love to each other, although I’d prefer to be included the next time.”

Both of them actually managed to giggle a little amid their tears.

“The fact that you were almost raped, that’s something you’ll have to cope with on your own or with the help of a therapist. You should really thank Al and Chad for being bigger men than Melinda Kennuck apparently thought.”

The both nodded.

“I’m not in a position to tell either of you what to do, so consider it a very strong request. Thanks to what happened, everybody was neatly reminded that I’m mom’s son, so it’s back to the shadows for me. I forgive you for that, but that doesn’t change the fact you’ve messed up my life quite badly.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m okay if you want to experiment with shit. Wanna make love, wanna get drunk, smoke pot whatever, but please do it here, where I’m at hand to make sure you don’t end up blackmailed again. Especially you mom; I’d really like if you don’t drink any more than absolutely necessary on those sponsor events. You’re an accident waiting to happen when you’re drunk, so if you wanna get tipsy, please do it here where I can make sure you end up safely in bed and not in front of someone’s camera.

“And you Meri. I’ve got even less reasons to tell you what to do, but you’re always welcome here if you want to let your hair down. You can even stay over. We obviously have no more use for my old room. Hell, if it is for me, you can even crawl under the sheets with mom and I if you don’t want to sleep alone. That’s definitely better than risking your image. You are both Olympic champions now. That means there’s a whole host of sleazy paparazzi and yellow-press hacks running around trying to find a juicy story on you.”

They both stared at me in surprise and utter relief that I wasn’t going to freak out. I stood up and hugged and kissed both of them.

“Congratulations for your medals, by the way.”


	9. Sexperimentation

** Meri **

I couldn't believe that Mark had forgiven us so easily. I had been prepared to live with the shame that I had destroyed the unique love between Lydia and her son, but instead he had forgiven us and was now even sitting on the couch with me, his arms slung around my waist as he gently held me while I leaned back against his chest.

Lydia's body was still tuned to European time, so with her suffering from the mother of all jet lags, Mark and I had tucked her in and she had almost instantly fallen asleep.

His mom had always insisted that Mark was much more independent than your average eighteen-year-old, due to their history. He had admitted his drunk episode, but in my opinion that was more down to the shock of thinking his beloved mom had been raped. Most people I know would perhaps have downed a whole bottle of sleeping pills instead of booze.

But what had really surprised me was, how mature he'd reacted to seeing Lydia and me making love to each other. I'm as bi-sexual as they come, but Lydia had been merely curious, saying she would probably not be attracted that way to any woman other than me. Hearing him say that he was perfectly fine with me and Lydia experimenting with each other had surprised me, considering that just a few weeks ago he'd been rather reluctant to touch me. Giving the blessing for the woman he loved to have sex with someone else was quite a leap of faith.

Granted, he didn't really run the risk of losing Lydia to me. Make no mistake, I really loved her in a very close, intimate friendship kind of way. But I was way too scarred from several spectacularly failed short-time relationships to consider falling in love with someone any time soon. Hell, I hadn't even decided if I was looking for a woman or a man. The same for Mark. We only started 'dating' in late April, but over those four months I've really come to love him in the way I love Lydia. When I would start looking for a guy or girl to spend the rest of my life with, he or she would have to live up to the comparison with Mark and Lydia and that was a damn high standard to meet.

"I had really expected you to freak out at seeing Lydia and me make out," I pondered aloud and I could feel him chuckle underneath me.

"Well, I would have preferred to learn about it from you, not from a tape," he said. "But I wasn't kidding. I expected it to happen. Despite the fact that I was conceived quite early, mom hasn't had that much sex in her life. She's been responsible for raising a child since puberty. I think she's only starting to explore her sexual identity properly. But hopefully here and not in a hotel room in Barcelona."

"We really don't remember anything about it," I admitted. "That bitch filled us up like a gas station servant. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the drinks were spiked. And we two naïve bimbo's believed she was trying to hand us an olive branch."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Meri. She wanted to hurt mom and she would have found a way. Hell, who knows, the alternative might have been taking a hammer to mom's kneecaps. The important thing is that Al and Chad knew what was wrong and what was right. I know it can be fun to get drunk and be silly, but I'd prefer we do that here, so one of us can stay half-way sober and make sure the others get safely tucked in. There are people out there who would have loved to take a snap of me lying in the ditch in a pool of my own vomit. There are lessons to be learned from this."

"And we've learned them, I promise," I replied and he gently rubbed my tummy in response. "But what about you and Lydia now?"

He sighed.

"Well, for the time being, I'll have to make myself scarce again, probably postpone college by another year. Instead of introducing my identity, I'll have to adopt a new nom de plume for the FHM gig. And if I ever want to have a chance to marry mom, I'll most likely have to undergo plastic surgery. I'll let John handle that. No matter what, it has definitely set us back by years."

It was amazing how mature he reacted to the proverbial shit we'd dumped on the poor boy with our naïveté. I felt bad that he had to take the brunt of the consequences.

**Mark**

We spent the whole evening on the couch, just cuddling a bit, talking. Rhonda had called at eight and was happy that things had worked out. I had asked her to pass the telephone to John, discussed a few things with him and asked him for a briefing the next morning. He would drop by at breakfast time.

When we retired for the night, I invited Meri to jump in with mom and I, but she insisted we needed the time for ourselves and went to sleep in my old room. In the end she should be right. Mom woke up at least three times, breaking down in tears, guilt-ridden and still scared that I would leave her and I ended up holding her most of the night gently trying to soothe her. She was really in a mess over what had happened, and I was happy about a specific request I'd made to John.

Mom had finally calmed down by the time John joined us for breakfast.

"Mom, Meri, don't get this the wrong way, but John and I have set a few things in motion without consulting you, mainly concerning either me or all three of us."

They both nodded their understanding and I turned the floor over to John.

"First of all, Mark asked me if you could use my residence in St. Kitts and Nevis, and I think it is a good idea that you all disappear for a while until the worst upheaval in the media has died down. I've made a deal with the prosecutor's office to have your testimony in the Kennuck trial taken via video link. I think it's a good idea for all of you to spend the next three weeks in the Caribbean. You'd be back in time for the charity run if you still want to do that."

Both of them agreed, with Meri admitting that she could definitely use a vacation after the hard training for the Olympics.

"The next thing," John continued, sorting through his notes. "USATF has agreed that the incident will remain classified and the trial will be closed to the public and the media. But I should warn you, and that goes especially for you, Lydia. USATF is seriously losing their patience with you. They aren't exactly a liberal organization. Two female athletes being intimate has caused a bit of turmoil among the conservatives and I can only smooth over so many ruffled feathers. No more stunts please."

Both of them blushed and promised to keep their lives in the private in the future. Not that we had much choice anyway.

"The next thing, and I know you won't like it, Lydia, but I agree with Mark that he should postpone college by another year. With his cover blown in public, the media would be all over him if he started attending classes in two weeks."

Mom's scowl was testament to the fact that she was not pleased with postponing my education once again, but I could also see the sadness in her eyes, her knowing that she was to blame for my blown identity.

We continued talking about several media strategies John had been working on and mom agreed with my suggestion that John's contract should be extended immediately, with a substantial raise of his fee. He'd done a lot to avert this crisis, and especially what he'd done for me was way beyond his contractual obligations.

**Lydia**

I didn't know whether to feel good about Mark's relatively easy forgiveness or whether to feel bad about the fact that it was necessary in the first place. I was supposed to be the mature partner in this relationship, but if anything, Mark had shown a much bigger level of maturity lately.

I wasn't really surprised when John took me aside and let me know in no uncertain terms that I should count my blessings that I had a son and lover like Mark, insisting that he would have had a hard time forgiving Rhonda so easily if she had pulled such a stunt on him. It's not easy to be effectively told that you're a blithering idiot, but I resigned myself to accepting the blame and perhaps let Mark be the man in the house, a job he'd been doing admirably since his youth.

Since we'd be leaving the next day we wanted to go shopping, and that wasn't easy as we were supposed to be invisible, which for people like Meri and myself is virtually impossible in Pasadena. Like always, John had the perfect solution. He gave us use of his private jet, so we could go to Montreal in Canada, where nobody would expect us. We could go shopping and then we'd stay in the hotel for a night before flying straight to St. Kitts and Nevis. That was our generous medal bonuses down the drain, but who cares, we're not exactly in need of pinching pennies anymore.

Arriving in Montreal's shopping district, we were surprised when Mark led us into a large sex shop. Walking straight to the toy section, he turned around, looking at us with a wide grin.

"Well, ladies, since you've apparently been in an experimental mood lately, I gathered we should do it properly and I shall be most happy watching the two of you have a go at it. Everybody picks what he or she is interested in and when we're at John's place I want to see a little show, something that turns me on, and something the two of you will actually remember afterwards."

I looked at Meri and both our cheeks were quite rosy in abashment, but also with a certain level of arousal. Mark was taking control and it made me wet.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

"First of all, you need this," he said and I gasped when he took a strap-on dildo from the shelf. It was one of the two sided things where the one using it had an 'inner dildo' to shove up her own honey pot.

It didn't look like Mark was open to any negotiation and he went on to the next shelf, where he shocked me even more. He selected a couple of blindfolds, which was a given for me, but then he grabbed a set of differently sized butt-plugs and one with a faux pony-tail attached to it, complete with a hair circlet with faux pony ears. Well at least the mane was already there, I thought with a strange mix of surprise and arousal.   
  
"Lydia," he said, avoiding to call me mom in case someone could hear it. "You've experimented with anal sex, but I'm probably a bit big at least for now, but maybe Meri can do something about your curiosity."

I heard Meri gasp next to me. The secret about his size was one I had not told her yet.

"How big?" Meri asked excitedly.

"Damned if I know," Mark replied with a shrug. "Eight something."

Meri looked around and found a little gag-toy a 'penis-meter'. She grabbed Mark by the hand and dragged him into a changing cubicle. I snickered and kept watch to avoid one of the shop assistants catching them. I could hear the sound of Mark's pants being zipped open and then a very surprised and nervous giggle from Meri.

When they weren't back out after two minutes, I poked my head in and had to stop myself from laughing. Mark was leaning against the wall, eyes closed and desperately trying not to make any noise, while Meri had his precious bit in her mouth happily bobbing her head back and forth. When she noticed me she flashed me a happy grin without releasing her prize from her mouth. I smiled, shook my head, and went back to watching out for overzealous shop assistants.

Soon I heard a muffled groan from Mark and a satisfied hum from Meri and they both came back out a short while later. Meri happily licked her lips and Mark looked fairly cross-eyed, but very happy.

"And?" I asked.

"8 inches 3/8 fully hard," Meri reported looking at me with lustful eyes. "And, fuck me, almost 6 inches girth. Why didn't you tell me earlier. I'd have sucked every drop out of it when he body-painted me."

"You can make up for lost time when we're there, honey."

Mark's dry reply made us giggle and I finally started to feel better. Somehow he could always make me feel happy. Mark led us further into the shop until we arrived in the lingerie department. I knew exactly what he had in mind and started to look for fish-net thigh highs and a matching suspender belts. Meri followed my example and she looked at me questioningly.

"No panties?" she asked.

"No panties," I replied, tilting my head in Mark's direction. "Spoils the view."

She just giggled nervously and put four of her own ensembles into the trolley.

"Okay, we have all that I'm interested in," Mark said. "Now it's your turn. Have a look around and select what you want."

Well, if he wanted to give us free reign, I was more than willing to indulge my darling son and his eyes bugged out when I selected a 'naughty boy', a curved anal dildo cum prostate massager for use on men, but he said nothing. He merely gave me a lopsided grin added a second tub of lube to our growing selection of purchases.

Meri's face was beet-read, but she braved her embarrassment and added nipple clamps with a chain and fuzzy handcuffs to the selection together with an 'Ultra-Dong blue', a double-dildo. We added a couple of cleaning lotions, massage oils and disposable clyster syringes to it and pushed our trolley to the checkout looking like we were about to outfit an underground brothel.

Mark ignored the lusty looks from the young girl at the checkout, mine and Meri's death stares might have had to do with that, and once everything was stored in neutral bags, we continued our shopping tour.

"That's gonna be a VERY interesting three weeks, isn't it," Meri remarked with a giggle and Mark and I just grinned at her.

The next stop was an art store where Mark bought all sorts of colors, skin-friendly organic thinner, brushes - all he needed to produce body paintings.

Then we were off for an electronics store where he bought professional photo and video equipment.

By the time he had everything he wanted, he was loaded like a mule, so we headed back to the airport and stored everything in the plane's cargo compartment. From there it was back into the city for lunch and then to the mall again to buy some clothing, although Mark made it clear that most of the time we wouldn't need any, a prospect that seemed to arouse Meri quite a bit. I was used to it and looked forward to some quality nude time in the Caribbean sun.

By the time we returned to the hotel, we were so knackered, we barely managed to undress, before all three of us fell onto the king-sized bed and drifted off to sleep in a naked pile. The other two bedrooms of the suite wouldn't be needed.

**Mark**

Now that's a hero's way to wake up. When my eyes fluttered open, I had a female head in the crook of each shoulder. Their arms were slung around my waist and both were sleeping peacefully their warm breath gently brushing my neck.

Finding myself in a sort of ménage à trois only a little over a year after finally resolving my relationship with mom seemed weirdly fast, but I don't think any of us doubted that Meri's presence was a temporary thing. At some point in the future she would come to a decision whether she was looking for a male or a female soul-mate and start her own family. As much as we both loved her, neither mom nor I could ever build the same emotional connection to her that the two of us had. It felt right for the moment to share our lover with her, but we could never give her the same contentment that finding your true soulmate brings.

I noticed that they were at least half awake when two hands grabbed my morning wood and started to jack me off in surprising unison.

"Found something you like, ladies?"

Both of them hummed sleepily and turned around to get their tongues and lips on my throbbing meat, beginning to administer the most sensual double-blowjob I'd ever had. Well, frankly, it was also the first.

Needless to say that with double the loving attention and after living like a monk for nearly a month. I didn't hold out for any length of time and having stolen a mouthful at the sex shop the day before, Meri let mom have the payload. There went my ability to pee for the next fifteen minutes.

I offered to return the favor, but both girls said they wanted to wait until we were in the privacy of John's mansion on St. Kitts and Nevis, so they would be properly warmed up to give me a show I wouldn't forget in a hurry.

We messed up the beds in the other bedrooms. The hotel staff didn't really need to know that we had only used one bed.

**Meri**

The flight to St. Kitts and Nevis was fairly uneventful. I had commandeered the jump seat in the cockpit, leaving the luxurious passenger cabin to the two love-birds. I was happy as a clam at high tide that they let me experience a part of their unique love, but I had hogged Mark enough already and I was not willing to come in between them. The love they were sharing with me was too precious to grab the whole hand when a finger was offered.

My hearing was good enough to know, even with the cockpit door closed, that Mark and Lydia couldn't quite keep their hands off each other, and he had given his beloved mom at least two orgasms already. She wasn't exactly silent when the passion overcame her. The pilots didn't seem to have noticed it, wearing head-sets all the time, but even if they had; they were John's most trusted employees, so they were probably aware of what the true relationship between them was and were appropriately sworn to secrecy.

We landed at the airport and a taxi was already waiting for us. Thankfully it was a big Merc, as we weren't exactly travelling lightly.

**Mark**

When we were done settling in, it was already getting dark outside, too late to head out to the beach. After storing all our luggage, I had called a local delivery service to put something in the fridge. It was just testament to mom's rotten timing that she had apparently decided to eat Meri's pussy in the upstairs bedroom and our busty fried cried out in a window-shattering orgasm just as the delivery guy wheeled in our food stuffs. He looked positively mortified, probably thinking my 'wife' was up there diddling herself. If he had known the truth he'd probably have shat bricks.

Meri was completely cross-eyed when she finally staggered down the stairs. Mom was already in the kitchen humming to herself and rearranging everything, from cutlery to stuff in the fridge. I had a suspicion what this was all about, but Meri's curiosity was peaked.

"Lydia? What are you doing? Don't tell me you have OCD."

"I'm trying to get everything arranged as close as possible to how it is at home."

"But why?" Meri asked. "That sounds damn straight like OCD right there."

"Blind cooking, honey," mom giggled when she saw Meri's disbelieving look. "I get completely turned on by blindfolding myself and walking and working around the house. I sometimes spend half the day completely blind. How many women can say they get sopping wet from cooking lunch. But of course I need to find everything where it is supposed to be or I'll end up cooking rat poison."

"Wow, I'll have to see that," Meri beamed.

"Okay, it's blind spaghetti then for lunch tomorrow," mom said, looking at me, knowing that I was just as keen as Meri to see that spectacle, and knowing that we would watch her aroused mom probably even more. As I said, it was time to experiment as I doubted any of us had really explored their sexual fantasies.

Now that we were in the sanctity of our home from home, mom and Meri decided to have some wine, but they still looked at me for confirmation. Since my massive booze escapade was merely three days ago, I didn't feel like it and would be the dedicated chaperone for the evening.

Mom and Meri had excused themselves to the bedroom, preparing for the fun and games of the evening. Instead of a shower, I had dived into the ocean outside. Even though it was dark already, the light from the house was enough to let me find the way and back.

I was sitting on the couch, stark naked when the two ladies appeared on top of the stairs, equally nude except for my favorite dress – thigh-highs, suspender belt and nothing else. It was a sight to behold – two gorgeous long-haired ladies – one muscled and curvy the other petite and delicate. It was a guy's dream to have two such goddesses at hand. I had to fight my instinctual reaction of just grabbing mom, throwing her on the table to plunder her pussy something fierce. Today I was supposed to be the guest of honour. Little action, but hopefully one hell of a show.

Since blindfolding was planned for the next day, mom had foregone to use one that night. Meri carried a bag with a selection of toys they wanted to break in.

Meri, obviously having appointed herself Mistress of Ceremony for the evening, brought me a beer and upon my insistence I didn't want any, she winked at me and said that watching what the two had planned, I would definitely want one, even if it was just the one.

Both of them commandeered one armchair each, sitting on it with their legs spread wide and hanging over the armrests, giving me a premium view at their freshly waxed, bald pussies. Both of them sipped on a glass of wine, once in a while leaning towards each other, exchanging hot kisses.

"Since we left you out last time, we've decided to give you a private show tonight," Meri said. "Whenever the pressure boils over, feel free to stick your trunk into either of our mouths okay? You don't need to ask."

I nodded in amazement, my throbbing member standing at full attention already.

"It's time for the first performance of the evening," she announced. "Lydia will now pop my cherry. Technically there's no cherry to pop as my hymen ruptured years ago during hurdle practice, but other than my fingers and Lydia's tongue, nobody's been in there yet."

They shifted the armchairs to the side and laid out a number of cushions on the floor before starting to French-kiss and caress each other's pussy until both of them were sopping wet. Even from where I was sitting, I could pick up the distinct sweet scent of female arousal.

Mom yelped in lust when Meri pushed the 'inner dildo' of the strap-on into her moist opening fixing the straps around the hips. The 'outboard dong' was five and a half inches, just average enough to not cause pain or discomfort. The black rubber thing was dangling in front of mom's hips as she aligned the tip with Meri's wet honey pot.

"Enjoy, Mark," Meri groaned, standing on her hands and knees in the doggy position as mom slowly pushed forwards.

"God, this feels good," Meri groaned when her (and my) lover started to move in and out of her inexperienced pussy. Mom might not be the most experienced lover in the world, but having experienced how it is not done, she was very gentle. My eyebrow shot up when I realized that mom had a butt-plug in her rear-end, giving me a faint idea of what was yet to come.

My erection was almost painful by the time Meri really got into it.

"Oh god, Lydia, fuck me please. Shit why haven't I done that earlier?"

Well that was a question Meri had to answer herself. I was transfixed on her large boobs swaying back and forth beneath her chest as mom was pounding the girl's pussy in earnest. She was hunched over Meri's body, fondling her lover's luscious knockers with aplomb.

Fascinated by the performance I opened the beer can, earning me a grinning wink from mom. It was a good thing my gorgeous mother had sucked me almost dry during the flight or I would have been forced to plunge my throbbing meat into Meri's throat right there. But this was her moment, the first time she got the raw stuffing fucked out of her.

"God, yes, I'm cumming, I'm fucking cumming, harder honey, HARDER!"

Moments later Meri cried out and her whole body shivered in the throes of her first ever orgasm from a good ol' fucking. Mom hadn't had climaxed yet, but from her complexion I could tell she was well warmed up for whatever round two would be.

They both plopped down into the armchairs, heavily breathing, Meri from her orgasm and mom from the unfamiliar exertion of playing the male part in the proceedings. Both hung their legs over the armrest again, and mom looked a tad ridiculous with that artificial boner sticking out.

"Sweetie, I've got a whole new appreciation for what you're doing to make me feel good," mom wheezed. "Jeez, I'm the fucking Olympic champion in marathon and I'm completely knackered."

She pulled the strap-on out and chucked it over to Meri, who looked at me somewhat insecure. I refilled their glasses and they both grabbed them.

"Mark, honey, as the next act we've planned for me to pop your mom's anal cherry. It's the only virginity she can offer you," Meri said. "If you don't want us to do that and want to take it yourself at some point, we're fine with it. We can do something else."

I threw Meri a kiss. "No hon, take it. I know mom is curious and I prefer it to be with something reasonably sized," I said, pointing at the strap-on. "I'm not hung-up on taking a cherry. In fact, both of you are perfectly scratching my voyeuristic itch right now, so relax a bit and then I shall enjoy watching mom's first butt-stuffing."

They both giggled.

"Only thing," I added. "Mom, I'll probably shove myself down your throat at some point. That okay? I don't think I'll make it through a second round without getting some relief."

"Honey, you don't need to ask," Meri answered and I realized that she was playing on mom's submissive tendencies by taking control.

We chatted a while until the girls had emptied their glasses and recovered for round two. I watched Meri lube mom's rear-end after pulling out the butt-plug amidst much groaning and wheezing from mom. Even though it was the smallest of the set of butt-plugs we had purchased, it had stretched mom's tight gateway enough to allow Meri's strap-on dong relatively easy access as it wasn't too big to begin with.

I could see that mom was in pain initially, but she was diddling her own pussy and Meri was paying a lot of attention to mom's tits. I couldn't stand the suspense any longer and knelt down in front of mom. She had also assumed the doggy position and eagerly swallowed my meat as Meri started to pump in and out of mom's rear-end. The pain seemed to have subsided, and mom was whimpering and groaning with my rod in her mouth. I was tingling all over as her lustful groans were passed onto my meat as a series of soft vibrations.

Mom was completely lost in the sensation of her first full-fledged anal stuffing and frankly the noises she made would have made a farmer proud. Meri giggled and winked at me, realizing that with the double-pronged attack, mom was completely detached from reality, lost in a sea of raw lust and pleasure. I had never seen her so wild before. Soon Meri was plundering mom's tight little rear-end so thoroughly the Vikings would have surrendered to her.

"Oh shit, Meri, fuck my ass! Ram that fucking rubber dick into my bowels! Harder, shit! Fuck the shit out of me until I fart the Hallelujah!

Meri actually missed a beat or two, nearly doubling over laughing. Mom had screamed in German, but apparently Meri had done what all people do when learning a foreign language - you memorize the dirty words first.

After scaring half the local wildlife into leaving in terror, mom greedily gulped down my meat again, wildly bobbing back and forth to the rhythm of Meri's brutal thrusts. She was so out of it, she didn't even realize she rammed me into her throat to the point of gagging.

Not surprisingly, I was the first to go, spray-painting mom's throat with my seed. She coughed several times but swallowed it all and kept going, not even realizing I was finished. She simply kept on sucking, gagging and groaning, keeping me hard in the process.  
  
I could see that Meri was tiring when completely out of the blue, mum exploded in a frighteningly intense orgasm. She let go of my meat, slumped down and started convulsing, whining and screaming incoherently in a language that hadn't been invented yet. Meri was so shocked at the violence of mom's climax she hurriedly pulled out and mom collapsed into a pile. She was crying hard, overwhelmed by the frightening intensity of her orgasm.

"God... so amazing... again... more... again," mom babbled incoherently amidst hard sobs, still fairly out of it. I put her head in my lap, caressing her cheeks until she became somewhat lucid again and the crying stopped. Meri didn't know whether to look mortified or pleased with her performance. I threw her a kiss to make her understand that she had done more than well.

Mom was grinning like an imbecile, still punch-drunk from the wild experience.  
  
"Holy shit, that was so amazing. Mark, sweetie, one day I want you in there and if I have to practice until the next Olympics. God, I've never felt anything like that before."

"And I want to try it up my ass too," Meri added, still breathing hard from the exertion and the arousal over what she'd just witnessed. "If it is half as good as it looked, I might send my pussy into early retirement. I'd never had an orgasm that made me cry."

"It's my second," mom said, her look dreamy and full of adoration. "You both have given me one. God, I love you both."

"We have three weeks, ladies. We don't need to try it all on the first evening," I said, gently brushing mom's lips. "Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll clean the toys."

Mom and Meri staggered up the stairs, heavily leaning onto each other, trying not to fall over. For once it wasn't the alcohol, they only had had two glasses of wine each. They were simply worn out after staging the hottest sex show ever and I made a mental note that I wanted to get another one. It had been exhilarating. The double dildo hadn't been christened yet and I had still to find out what Meri had in mind with the fuzzy handcuffs. But all in all it had been a glorious evening and I was glad they had overcome the glum mood over what that bitch Melinda Kennuck had done to them in Barcelona.

All I wanted was for both of them to be happy, mom in particular. Once I had cleaned the toys, Meri hollered from upstairs that they were retiring to bed and that I shouldn't be too long before joining them, but I doubted that, even if I was to go up in the next five minutes, either of them would still be awake, considering how thoroughly they had worn each other out. They had given each other a massive workout and I couldn't believe how much it had turned me on to watch them make wild passionate love to each other.

The next day however was to be mom's day. I knew she was dying to make herself sopping wet and desperate for relief by being blindfolded around the house, but she didn't know it half as well as our home in Pasadena, so I started taping Styrofoam to any sharp edges I could find. I wanted mom to enjoy her sexual fantasy and since she would most likely (and hopefully) be naked throughout the experience, I didn't want her to stub her toes or collect bruises in the relatively unknown surroundings. 


	10. Your Fantasies and Mine

#### Lydia

That's why I love my Mark so much. He could have snuggled up to us, but instead he padded all the sharp edges in preparation of me living out my sexual fantasies. Then he finished off the bottle of wine Meri and I had left half unfinished and apparently he had fallen asleep on the couch afterwards.

However, the demonstration of my guilty pleasure wouldn't happen, at least not yet. First of all, I was all for the experimentation that Mark had in mind and I actually talked to Meri about it after we woke. We were both excited about it, but we were also in agreement that it shouldn't happen to a schedule. And besides, I really needed to get to know this house better before I started stumbling about in it blindfolded.

After we'd taken a shower, we selected our clothing, which was just a bikini bottom. Mark was fascinated with boobs, so why should we hide them? Besides, I had gotten some mild tan lines in Barcelona and it was time to get rid of them.

We both took our pill. For me that was as instinctive as going to the toilet in the morning, but Meri had only been on the pill for a year, so we had decided to take it together in order to remind each other. Nothing would have been worse than forgetting it and then deciding to have fun with Mark.

I shortly thought about using the butt-plug again, but my poor battered rear-end was still tingling from the workout it had gotten the day before. However, as soon as I wouldn't be sore anymore, I was determined to try again. I needed to know if that monstrous orgasm had been a freak occurrence or if it would always feel that great. If it would, then I would definitely try to take Mark in there. The sheer thought of my sweetheart's massive tool splitting my little butt apart threatened to soil my fresh bikini bottom right away.

When Meri and I came down into the living room Mark was snoring lightly, like he always does when he's lying flat on his back. His semi-rigid morning wood was lazily resting on his abdomen. I winked at Meri and tilted my head in his direction. Her big boobs jiggled as she scooted over to the sofa, grinning mischievously.

It didn't take long to hear a gasp, telling me my darling son had woken up. I looked over my shoulder and saw him watching the scene in fascination as Meri greeted him with a gentle blowjob. She was humming the melody of The Chordettes' "Lollipop", letting go of his raging hard-on once in a while to produce that signature 'pop' by flicking her cheek with her finger. I nearly bowled over laughing. It was a hilarious scene.

Never missing a chance to get his hands on our boobs, Mark gently caressed Meri's large jugs. I was about to feel some Schadenfreude that Meri would have to walk around with a very telling wet patch on her panties, but then I realized I was leaking just as badly. I couldn't believe how much it turned me on when I watched them fooling around. No wonder Mark had thoroughly enjoyed last night, despite the fact that he'd gotten relatively little action himself.

It took some effort to tear my eyes away from the spectacle to continue making breakfast, but the damage was done – I was sopping wet and my nipples looked like they were making a break for freedom. I put on an apron as I didn't want to get hot fat on any parts of me that Mark and Meri were very fond of.

By the time the eggs were done and deposited in the bowl, the two horny youngsters in the living room had switched positions and Mark was lapping away at Meri's pussy like a dog in heat. And by the way she was squealing, she was definitely loving it. Like myself Meri seems to be very orgasmic as we both have a tendency to cum fast and often. You could argue it could also be that Mark has just magic hands and a very skilled tongue, but that only happens in cheesy fantasy stories. He was surprisingly gentle and dedicated to make us feel good, but he was still relatively inexperienced – all three of us were, actually.

Meri let out a low guttural moan and Mark gently held her while she shivered through her orgasm. I opened the terrace door as the whole room smelled of pussy.

The two of them were sitting next to each other, still cross-eyed after their respective climaxes. I stood before them, hands on my hips.

"What about me, young man?"

Mark just grinned at me with mock menace. "You, dear mother of mine, will be dessert, and I will have my way with you until you think you're living with Vlad the Impaler. But first I need a shower and something in my stomach."

As a way of confirmation his stomach growled loudly and we all chuckled.

#### Meri

Well, Mark was certainly not one to make empty promises. I was catching a tan outside, naked on a deck chair, and the two of them were still at it in the living room. I'd stopped counting, but I think Lydia had gone through three orgasms at the very least by then. Mark must have been a bit more enthusiastic than usual, unless 'god, yes, finger mom's naughty ass' was code for something. My best bet was that he merely put the 'scientific findings' of last night's sexual exploration to good use, mainly the insight that Lydia had a massive thing going for anal sex.

Finally, the ruckus died down and about half an hour later Lydia staggered out 'armed' with two towels, sun cream and two drinks, which she put on the small table under the parasol.

She had probably taken a quick shower, but the puffed flesh of her normally quite tightly closed pussy and her somewhat funny gait left no doubt that she'd been on the receiving end of a jolly good pounding with something that was considerably bigger than the average-sized strap-on we'd used last night.

"He's quite good for someone who was a virgin less than six months ago," I noted, putting sun cream on Lydia's back.

"That's the nice thing about being in love with a brainiac," Lydia said with a chuckle. "He reads a lot – even women's magazines. And he uses his artist's hands well. I doubt the paws of a two-hundred-fifty-pound quarterback would feel half as good."

Lydia put the lotion on her front herself and leaned back against the deck chair, sipping her drink, thinking about something.

"You should try the drink," Lydia said, pointing at the other glass. "It's non-alcoholic and the best I can come up with for a drink that contains Vitamin supplements. I'm quite proud of it."

"Vitamin supplements?" I asked doubtfully. As a professional athlete you have to be careful what you eat and drink. A failed test for performance enhancing drugs can kill your career in a damn hurry.

"Don't worry, all clean stuff," she answered with a chuckle. "I risked my neck fleeing from East Germany to get away from PED's. I'm not going to start messing around with them now. I think we've shown quite comprehensively that we can win clean."

I smiled.

"I'm pretty sure the Japanese girl, who was nipping at your heels until the bitter end, was loaded to the gills with 'The Juice', and probably the Russians as well," I theorized.

"Most of the Russians," Lydia replied with a nod. "I would almost vouch for the fact that Fedorova is clean. She's a good girl and her coach is my old coach from Magdeburg. He fled to Austria, half a year after me. He was the one who always told me not to mess up my body for the sake of medals."

"Why didn't you try to recruit him for yourself?" I asked. "You seem quite fond of him."

"Thomas is a good man and I owe him a lot. He was a big help in the time just after Mark's birth. But from a professional point of view he's a bit too old-school. Endlessly drilling stamina and power isn't cutting it anymore these days. Fedorova would sink like a lead balloon in a 10k race. She's got absolutely no acceleration at all. One sprint in the marathon and she bonked completely. Had the Africans not messed up everybody in the first kilometers she wouldn't even have saved the bronze. Katrin was only twenty seconds from reeling her in."

We could hear Mark's voice from behind. He was talking to someone on his cell phone, being the first of us to use one of them new-fangled things. Lydia and I had already decided to get one of those for ourselves as well.

"You are crazy dude. But then, who am I to talk. My better half is my own mother."

He put a large sketch book, several colored pencils and a can of beer on the table. Like us he was stark naked and he walked around in thought talking with whoever it was on the other end. Since there were only three 'dudes' whom he could so casually mention their secret to, my best guess was Jonjo.

"You didn't accidentally inhale some pot, did you?" he asked with a laugh. "I mean the idea is great but jeez ... No, I doubt it, they both have at least six to eight years of career in them, so you don't even need to look at it before 2000, probably more like 2001. Forty is not too old for a marathon runner and I would bet mom would like to be at the 2000 Olympics."

Lydia and I exchanged surprised looks. It looked like we were the topic of the talk or at least part of it.

"Yeah, man, talk to you later, and keep your hands off the shit they try to sell you in back-alleys."

The last one was delivered with a laugh and he severed the connection, commandeering the deck chair next to Lydia.

#### Mark

I started rubbing sun cream over my chest and mom started on my back without me having to ask for it. I could see it in their eyes that they were about to burst from curiosity, wanting to know what the topic of the talk between Jonjo and I was.

Once my protection from sunburn was secured I turned to them with a mischievous grin.

"So should I pretend you're not ready to burst at the seams or do you want me to tell my big secret?"

Mom just rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and I let them off the hook.

"Jonjo has decided to major in Automotive Engineering and for his final exam he wants to build a racing car. And now the really good bit..."

I drew out the big reveal and both of them actually leaned towards me like two precious flowers seeking the sunlight.

"He wants to scoop up a knackered Trabant and nail two big motor cycle engines to it, converting it to all-wheel drive in the process."

I could tell that this all sounded Greek to Meri, confusion evident on her face. She probably didn't even know what a Trabant was, but Mom started snickering.

"Okay, now I know why you asked him about smoking pot. That sounds like a classic crack idea," she said. "And why would he start now? he's only starting college in two weeks and he's already making plans for graduation?"

"And more importantly, where do we fit into all this techno-babble?" Meri added.

I quickly scribbled a sketch of a Trabbi into my sketch book and handed it to Meri.

"This, honey, is a Trabant 601, also known as _Ulbricht's last Revenge_ or a _Cardboard-Porsche_ , the worst car ever built. An asthmatic heart of twenty-six geriatric horses beating in a body of sheer plastic mediocrity."

Mom doubled over, laughing.

"Anyway, Jonjo reckons he'll need at least three to four years to develop a transmission and raise money to build it anyway, so he wants to start early. As for the three of us. He doesn't only want to build that thing; he actually wants to race it. And that's where we come in."

"He wants _us_ to drive that thing?" Mom asked, still mightily amused about the sheer hilarity of a Trabant-based racing car.

"Indeed he does, mother of mine," I answered with a chuckle. "Apparently he read the story in the last Sports Illustrated, about professional athletes who become depressed after the end of their careers. And he immediately thought of you. Sort of like preparing to throw you a life-line to keep you from drowning."

"He's so sweet," mom said and I could hear she was truly moved by the gesture.

"Well, I certainly would like to have a chance at properly going bonkers in a car, legally," Meri giggled.

"Do you really think I'll cut it until 2000?" mom asked suddenly, remembering the talk I had with Jonjo about their careers.

"Maurizio de Zolt from Italy won a world championship bronze over 50 kilometers cross-country last year, at forty-one and he isn't even quitting yet," I reminded her. "Stamina doesn't deteriorate as quickly as springiness. For Meri it'll be curtains at thirty, except for the long-jump, but there's no reason for you not to have another competitive decade, considering that marathon runners peak in their thirties."

"Do you think Jonjo is serious?" mom probed further.

"Well, he might come across all Bob-Marley-like, but Jonjo usually doesn't muck about. And I think the idea of racing isn't even a bad one. Look at Mario Andretti. He's what? A hundred and thirty? And he's still racing in Indycars. There are people driving in Le Mans, who are pushing seventy. You can do that for a long time and it might be a solution to my identity dilemma."

"How so?" Mom's curiosity was now properly peaked.

"Do you know Louis Krages?" I asked and both of them shook their heads.

"Well, that's because everyone knows him by the name of John Winter. His own mother didn't realize for years that he was racing cars. His cover was finally blown when he won Le Mans in 1985 and he had to go on the podium. That's when his mother found out."

"How did he do that?" Meri wondered aloud.

"Well, he was racing in sports cars, usually in the mid-field. Sports car races feature a lot of drivers in one place, so barely anyone knew him personally and he always had his balaclava or even his helmet on when he was in the pit-lane. Nobody ever managed to put name and face together. And that's where you two would come in. In a team with two babes as hot as you for drivers, I'd be invisible to begin with."

They both giggled and mom swatted me on the arm.

"He does have a charming way to ask for a blowjob, wouldn't you say?" Meri asked mom amid chuckles.

"No thanks," I answered in kind. "The two of you have run me dry this morning. Even an eighteen-year-old needs some time to recover."

I took a large swig from my beer and fixed them both with a serious look.

"Speaking of it, ladies. I think we should talk about the next three weeks."

Both of them emptied their drinks and looked at me with interest.

"Meri, most importantly; we need you to understand that this three-way relationship is a temporary arrangement. We both love to have you, but the day will come when I will want to have mom to myself or the other way round and you will want to have an exclusive partner as well."

She nodded.

"I have no idea how long it will last. It could be the next three weeks or it could be the next three years. It feels right in so many ways at the moment, but it definitely has a sell-by date."

"I know," Meri said, smiling at me. "I will never be more than the bonus item in a sweet deal. But the two of you give me stability, help me overcome my insecurities. I haven't even found out yet whether I prefer 'part A in slot B' or 'tongue in groove'. But don't worry, I know it won't last forever."

"Are you sure you need to make that distinction?" Mom asked in reference to her 'decision'. "As far as I can tell you love to be with me or Mark in equal measure. Why not just go with the flow, try what you feel like trying? When Mr. or Ms. Right comes around, just grab the opportunity."

Meri nodded slowly, pondering mom's advice. It sounded logical to me. I thought Meri knew she was bi-sexual, but she was still hung up on the notion that she needed to have a prevalent orientation. The pressure of society was still working on her.

"Speaking of trying things," I said to break the silence. "John and Rhonda will drop by over the weekends, but in between I want us to explore our fantasies. No matter how weird you think your ideas are, nobody will be judged and everybody has the right to say yes or no."

"Sounds good to me," Meri said with another smile. "Does that mean I get to pound your fine a..."

She clutched her hands over her mouth, mortified by what she'd just said. Mom was just grinning with mischief and Meri blushed a shade of crimson that looked definitely unhealthy.

"S-sorry," she muttered.

"You didn't listen, Meri, did you?" I said, trying to flash her a reassuring smile, even though I didn't quite know what such a smile is supposed to look like. "Well, obviously you developed or already had a liking for pounding a well-shaped ass, so it's okay to ask me if I would like to try. I can't give you an answer yet, but considering what kind of toy mom has bought, I might find out."

"W-wait, you would really try being pegged?" Meri asked, her abashment giving way to wide-eyed astonishment.

I shrugged. "Why not? That's what we decided to do – trying new things. The worst that could happen is that I don't like it, in which case we'll just stop and not try again."

"I've always thought that guys only want to experiment on girls," Meri admitted. "You know, wanting to try blowjobs, footjobs, boobjobs, anal, everything but wouldn't even eat pussy."

"Well, I think we've already established that I DO eat pussy," I reminded her of the morning. Mom just chuckled knowingly.

"And you're bloody good at it, too," Meri admitted looking down at her lap, blushing again.

#### Lydia

I was proud of him. You would expect an eighteen-year-old with access to two almost permanently naked and willing women to go on a sexual bender, fulfilling all his teenage fantasies, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Mark had probably more of an idea what he wanted than Meri and I did and instead of living out all of _his_ dreams, he encouraged us to explore our own.

Over the next few days things calmed down a bit. Meri and I would trade the privilege of waking up Mark with a blowjob or, in Meri's case an occasional boob job. Mine were a bit too small and it felt silly to push them together until they looked completely deformed. In return Mark would dutifully eat Meri's or my pussy and he once even managed to make Meri orgasm just by administering a proper boob-groping and nipple-licking. Damn, that girl has some properly sensitive nipples. And he did of course give us the privacy to be with each other once in a while, so Meri had taken my ass again three days later and it was as fantastic as the first time.

Mark, who had been sketching body-painting designs out on the beach told us afterwards, amid much laughter, that even in a porn-film they would have bleeped out most of the language. I guess we can establish that I like to talk dirty when the passion gets to me. Perhaps we should have closed the bedroom window. I'm not sure there's any wildlife left in the vicinity. Those butt-plugs would become my friends.

But it was not all fun and games. We couldn't really bugger each other to the point of exhaustion every day. Meri had decided to call it a day on her season, wanting to concentrate on technical training and muscle build-up for the long jump after the disappointing result in Barcelona. Well, there was more than enough fine and loose sand to jump into on the beach and Mark had spent an entire morning endlessly walking back and forth on the beach to flatten a runway for her with a lawn-roller, repairing his creation again after each training.

Meri couldn't quite enjoy naked training as I did. Taking a run-up with those large boobs swinging free made her wobble about like a spinning top shortly before it topples over. She had tried once, and even Mark admitted that it didn't look sexy, but rather silly, so Meri had to wear her constrictive sports bra. That didn't stop her from letting her pussy catch some free air, until it ended up full of sand after a couple of jumps. In the end she gave up and practiced in full gear.

My season was far from finished. I had still unfinished business with the London marathon after bonking like an amateur in 1990. I mainly concentrated on interval training and the frequent u-turns, necessary because the beach was only little over a kilometer wide, helped me with improving my acceleration, my major Achilles heel, especially in 10K races. The big one however was that there would be a half-marathon in our old home town in East Germany. It was supposed to be held in the district capitol of Magdeburg, where my old club was, but it was relocated to our 10.000 souls' town in honor of my Olympic gold, even though I was now competing for Americaland.

Once the organizers learned that I would be competing, they changed the route slightly and we would run past my grandparents' house that Mark and I grew up in. It would make the competition unique as the route change meant it would include about two kilometers of unpaved roads. I'm not a religious person, an atheist in fact, but I felt almost inclined to pray that Grandpa Ernst would live long enough to see it.

Not too surprisingly, after Granny Aurelia's death he had deteriorated quickly to the point of almost becoming demented. Bea had told me a frightening story that he had once complained that it had been dark all day. After some days she realized, it was winter at the time, that he had mixed up day and night. He got up in the evening and went to bed in the morning, wondering why it was dark outside all the time.

With a heavy heart we had decided to put him into a retirement home and it should to be a blessing in disguise. It turned out that one of the other residents in that particular retirement home was an old friend he'd been in a Soviet prisoner of war camp after World War II with, and after their release in 1949 they had worked in a brickyard together. The two of them had lost contact in the early sixties, but there, somehow they reconnected and my granddad improved. He was lucid again with renewed will to live, and despite his eighty-five years, it seemed like he would be around a few years longer. But that's what we once thought about granny Aurelia too, so the underlying fear was always with us.

Stamina practice was not the only practice I was doing. By now I had created a good mental image of the house in my memory. I knew, for instance, it was four steps from the cupboard, search and feel the pillar of the kitchen counter, then straight ahead for nine steps and I was near the coffee table. A few more days and I should be able to navigate the first floor blindfolded without having to rely on Mark's Styrofoam protectors. In fact, we would need to take them off before John and Rhonda arrived on Friday evening. I was comfortable living out my unusual fantasy with Mark and Meri, but even as a very good friend, John didn't need to know everything about me.

#### Mark

"You're doing a lot of designs lately," Meri noted and slung her arms around me from behind. Her hands roamed my chest, making it hard for me to concentrate on my drawing.

"Well, I've been thinking," I said. "That tiger head design has been shown around quite a bit and the reaction was almost universally positive. I was wondering if it would be possible to come up with something like a hundred or so different designs and then make an exhibition of it."

"Only Lydia or can I be part of it as well?" Meri asked.

"I haven't even asked mom yet. She really likes them, but, well, some of them would be a bit risqué, with the naughty bits not always covered up."

"How risqué? Do you have one as an example?"

I thumbed a few pages back to an interpretation of John Collier's _"Lilith"_ of 1892. I had that design sketched and colored with Meri in mind. I never drew faces on the stylized models, but the bust size gave away which designs I envisioned on mom's body and which on Meri's.

The design was basically a large dark-patterned python curling around the model's right leg a few times, across her hips to obscure the pussy and then round the back, up the spine, with the snake's head over the shoulder and resting on the collarbone. The tongue of the beast provocatively lashed out towards the right breast. Since almost all of the painting was limited to the leg, frontal nether region and the back, the breasts would be completely exposed.

"You designed that with me in mind, didn't you?" Meri asked softly.

I just nodded.

"It looks amazing, Mark. I want you to paint that on me. God, I'll look like some of the girls in those ancient paintings. But why did you make the hair ginger?"

"That's how it is in the original," I explained. "Aren't you concerned about the amount of skin you'd be showing?"

Meri chuckled. "Mark, I ditched the frock for PLAYBOY, remember? I'm proud of my looks. Unlike Lydia it won't be that way well into my thirties. Those damn large things will sag like hell in a few years. I want something to gush over, remembering how sexy I was looking before I had to surrender to gravity. And besides, an art exhibition is different from a wanking inspiration for a pimple-faced fifteen-year-old. I'd be proud to be a model in an art exhibition."

"Alright, Meri. I'll paint that on you, but you better get the sun cream and start roasting. Those tan lines need to go. They spoil everything."

"Lydia, we need sun cream!" Meri hollered and mom came walking out of the house with a plastic bottle.

#### Meri

A good week ago Mark had 'spelled out the rules' on our sexual experimentation, but so far everyone had been reluctant to go first with a specific fantasy, idea or request. He had been in charge of this whole idea, and I guess Lydia and I were subconsciously waiting for him to make the first step.

It happened on Monday morning, about an hour after John and Rhonda had left.

They had arrived late on Friday, then left again early Monday. Lydia had insisted that while we wouldn't go naked, we'd be topless, even with John and Rhonda around. They knew both of our bodies from our respective PLAYBOY gigs, so there was no point in playing prudish damsel.

John had been almost shocked initially, but then, surprisingly, he and Rhonda just adopted the prevalent dress code. Rhonda was closing in on her thirty-seventh birthday and in terms of size I think she even beats me by a small margin. Seeing that her large breasts weren't even remotely as badly sagging as I had feared mine would do at that age, allayed a few of my fears and insecurities about my own aging process.

The major news was that John accepted Mark's proposal that he also take over my management. The company I'd been with so far had done little to deflect the shit storm after my PLAYBOY shoot or to make my Olympic gold financially rewarding. I was more than happy to work out a contract with John, and the irony of us doing so with him clad in nothing but a pair of Bermuda shorts and me wearing nothing but the pants of a bikini while both drinking beer was almost comical.

Anyway, once John and Rhonda had left to return to Pasadena, Mark came forward with an idea.

"Mom, Meri, none of us has come forward with any suggestions yet and we've wasted a whole week already, so I will make the first step. Keep in mind everybody has the right to decline."

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks when he looked at me.

"Meri, honey, I want to make love to you, and I don't have my tongue in mind when thinking about it."

Right there, right then, the fucking hoover dam broke in my pants. I was soaked in record time. My whole body started shaking in lust, thinking about him sliding that large thing into me.

"I was afraid you'd never ask. Mount me!" I demanded, my voice husky with desire.


	11. Special Request

#### Lydia

You have to give credit where it's due. Taking on someone as large as Mark in only your third sexual encounter takes some serious guts, but then I knew Mark would be extra-gentle about it. He always seems to know if a gentle or more robust approach is needed.

On one hand he seems to be good at picking up subtle hints, but then me growling at him to 'fuck the raw shit out of me, stud' probably doesn't qualify as subtle. Meri, however, is not so expressive and he still always knows how to handle her.

Mark threw the giggling and squealing Meri over his shoulder and walked up the stairs mocking caveman sounds.

"Ugh, Ugh, female, big tits, me mate."

I nearly lost it, laughing, as did Meri. I had planned to stay behind, giving them the privacy to enjoy each other, but Mark indicated that I should follow them.

His caveman routine ended as soon as we were in the bedroom. He gently put Meri on the bed, kissing her.

"Mom, I think Meri is a bit scared," he said. "Would you mind holding her hand?"

I was surprised by his assessment, considering how brazenly she had reacted to his advances down in the living room, but I knew Mark was spot on when Meri clutched my hand much more tightly than I had expected.

She gasped when Mark blindfolded her. He didn't have to reach far as with the big bedside cabinets either side of the king-size water bed, all the toys we'd bought were lying around openly. I could see Meri shiver.

"It's okay, honey," he said softly and kissed her. "It's a bit like an injection at the doctor. It's easier if you don't look. Want me to take it off again?"

"Leave it on, Mark," Meri whispered and they exchanged another soulful kiss. "I've never been so horny and frightened at the same time. Be gentle please..."

Holy romance, Batman! I knew Mark was a bit of a romantic, but seeing how gently and lovingly he handled Meri was enough to have me gushing like a fire-hose. At that moment I wanted him so badly, I would have ravished him on the spot if this wasn't supposed to be Meri's moment.

While Mark was still whispering reassurances into Meri's ear, gently caressing her boobs, I badly needed some sort of stimulation, which wasn't easy to achieve with only one hand. I reached over, grabbing one of the butt-plugs and with a bit of effort I managed to screw the tub of lube open.

And that's just Mark. He saw me struggle and gently fed his cock to Meri, freeing up his hands. Taking the toy off me, he lubed it up generously and handed it back to me. He wiped his hands clean with a towel and returned his attention back to his partner. Sliding his tool out of her mouth, he licked a trail down her torso and started eating her pussy. Shit, that was so hot to watch.

I groaned, feeling the pain as I forced the plug into my back-passage, and I nearly came when it finally slid in place. The mixture of pain and feeling so full back there threatened to make me mad with lust, especially as I realized that I had grabbed one that was slightly bigger than intended. Meri let go of my hand and felt around my body. Recognizing the end-plate of the butt-plug in my ass she let out a giggle and took my hand again.

This time her grip was much lighter, her fear dissipating as Mark did an expert job at making her wet. In fact, her pussy was practically drooling onto the bed-sheets and Mark's face was glistening with Meri's juice. Holy Hell, I wasn't sure who would cum first, Meri or I.

That question was answered when Meri arched her back and cried out his name in ecstasy and for the first time in my life I saw a woman squirt. Mark's face was hit with several spurts of liquid as Meri spray-painted his mug. He looked like someone who'd been attacked by kids with a squirt gun and I nearly laughed. The stuff was dripping from his eyebrows for crying out loud. But Mark just grinned, proud as a peacock of having made Meri feel that good.

Now I had an idea what Meri meant when she said that I 'lose it' during anal sex. She let go of my hand and her hands frantically explored the physique of Mark. She seemed to be somewhere else, completely detached from what was happening around her and it wasn't because of the blindfold.

"Put it in, honey, now, put it in," she begged and Mark positioned himself at her drenched opening. Her legs opened more and more like the legs of a divider calliper the further Mark pushed himself into her.

By the time my sweetheart had buried himself completely in Meri's body she was almost doing a split. There was no sign of pain or discomfort, just pure unadulterated lust.

"Fuck me honey, please fuck me!" Meri wailed.

It didn't sound exactly dignified to be begging like that, but I guessed I wasn't much better when Meri was boning my rectum with the strap-on. In fact, if Mark's recollection of the events was anything to go by, Meri's utterances were positively graceful in comparison to what usually fell out of my skull when I had five and a half inches of rubber in my bowels.

Mark was ever so carefully sliding in and out of Meri's stretched pussy and she greeted every thrust with a squeal or a moan, completely lost in the sensation of the massive intrusion. Mark reached over and bit into one of the two dildo's of the strap-on. With his free hand, needing the other to steady himself over Meri, he twisted the whole assembly and I saw that the rubber dong could be screwed off. Once he had removed it he spat it out, and the removed 'inboard dildo' fell to the ground.

Now that the toy had had a dildo-ectomy, he put it down beneath me with the remaining dildo pointing upwards and I lost no time sitting down on it.

How the hell did he do that? He was concentrating on boning Meri and still had the presence of mind to see that I badly needed something in me. Seriously girls, forget the football jocks - go for the brainiac who has the excess capacity to make quick decisions, even if most of his blood is in the southern hemisphere. You might think your son is a sweetheart for doing the dishes without you having to tell him to? Mine was holding the dildo in place while I rode it like a Cowboy fleeing from a bunch of pissed off Sioux. All the while he was making slow gentle love to Meri. If someone ever tells you that men can't multi-task – don't believe them.

I sunk down on the toy again and again, the heated flesh of my pussy crashing into Mark's hand as he held the thing in place for me. But Meri beat me to the punch by - I don't know – either ten seconds or twelve years. In between Mark let out a growl that would put a grizzly to shame, pumping his spunk into Meri's womb. Oh, I was loving this 'living out your fantasies' business.

#### Meri

I had completely forgotten that Lydia was with us, but once the blinding bliss of my second orgasm had subsided and Mark had taken the blindfold off me, I saw her riding the Dildo like a girl possessed with Mark holding it. He had already injected his seed into my innards when Lydia went off like a rocket and came crashing down on the bed next to me.

"Jesus effing Christ," I said. "That was like humping a lamppost. God you're huge, Mark. I'll be walking like a Geisha for a week."

"Don't bet on it girl," Lydia groaned next to me with a knackered voice. "Two days and you won't be able to think about anything else but having that baseball bat in your pussy again."

I just laughed and hugged Mark close to my chest.

"That was absolutely amazing honey."

#### Mark

I know many guys dream of having two or even more women available to please them, but trust me, if you are anything but a selfish prick and care about more than just your own pleasure, it is hard work.

After making love to Meri, we all dozed off for an hour and afterwards the ladies went out for training. Meri's run-up looked distinctly funny that day.

Somehow we must have lit the fuse on mom that day, because she had me fuck her no less than three times and then Meri took her ass in the evening until mom finally passed out. I think she'd become a bit competitive having seen Meri squirt. Neither Meri nor I had managed to make mom squirt yet.

On Tuesday I woke up on the couch. As I said mom had wanted a good sodomizing and I had left them alone to have the night to themselves. I had actually planned to sleep in the second bedroom but after a few beers I had nodded off on the sofa.

My eyes fluttered open and mom winked at me with my cock in her mouth. I was starting to dread the times when she would be abroad for competitions again. Waking up to a gentle blowjob is something you get awfully quickly used and addicted to.

It only took a few minutes until I unloaded into mom's throat with a grunt and after cleaning me up she washed down the payload with a coffee, pouring me one after she had finished hers.

I looked at the clock and saw it was only 6am.

"Mom, what are you doing here at the butt-crack of dawn?"

"Mark, I wanted to talk to you about ... about ... some of my fantasies."

I nodded, understanding that for whatever reason, she wasn't comfortable to talk about it with Meri around.

"I ... I want to try a real cock in my ass. But you're a bit too big at least for the time being, so I thought ... well John and Rhonda visit over the weekend again, and they're good friends..."

It took me a while to think about it, but I suspect I had expected something like that, because my decision came quite quickly to me.

"If you want my blessing to have John do you up the backside, you have it," I said. "On the condition that you accept that Rhonda might want to have a little fun with me. I have reason to believe that they might be swingers. Rhonda slipped a few things in that regard."

Mom nodded her agreement. Then a thought struck me.

"Mom, you and Meri haven't been the least bit frightened by the fact that Al and Chad might have had their way with you in Barcelona. Could it be that you, or perhaps even both of you, fantasize about being taken by other men?"

Mom blushed and I saw some tears well up in her eyes.

"Would you be ... angry ... if I said yes?"

I kissed her. "Have you forgotten what I said about experimenting? I cannot promise that I like it. Perhaps I'll already be hurt seeing John have you. But I promised we'd try. However, for the case that I can't cope with it, I need your promise that it will remain a one-time experiment."

She kissed me and made the promise.

"By the way, mom. Let me, John and Rhonda talk about it beforehand, okay?"

She nodded again and walked out to the beach to take a morning bath in the ocean.

I waited until she came back.

"Mom, sit down again please."

She followed my request, continuing to wrap her long wet mane in a towel.

"Mom, what is it with your submissive streak? The talk we just had; sorry for being so blunt, but you sounded to me like a pitiful doormat. If I wanted someone with no own will or self-esteem, I'd buy an inflatable doll. If you want to play a bit during sex, fine, but apart from that I want you to be my mom, the woman I love and the woman who was strong enough to raise me at an age when other girls have barely been weaned off their Barbie sets."

Mom sighed. "I swing from one extreme to the other, don't I?"

I nodded. "'Fraid you do. If you wanna play sex slave, fine with me, just come down here naked except for thigh-highs and a garter belt and our safe-word is active. But no matter what you are wearing or not wearing, unless you are in that exact get-up, you are Lydia Karrass and you make your own decisions, are we agreed?"

She kissed me. "Remind me; who of us is thirty-two?"

I chuckled.

#### Meri

I could tell something wasn't quite right between Lydia and Mark and my first instinctual reaction was thinking that I had something to do with it. That was until Lydia told me about the talk they had had in the morning and in hindsight I could understand Mark's reasoning. We had both been rattled by our fuck-up in Barcelona and while trying to leave the control to him, we had subconsciously subjected ourselves to his command. For someone with as much respect for women as Mark had, that was bound to be unattractive. We'd humiliated ourselves and he wasn't liking it.

They seemed to have worked it out though, but I stayed away from them for the next two days to give them the time they needed to reconnect properly.

I woke up on Thursday with Mark's tongue in my pussy and he almost knocked me out. Lydia had laughed hysterically when Mark's face came up looking like a dog coming back in on a rainy day. I guess I had squirted again.

After breakfast we went out to catch a tan, something I'd done extensively over the last few days and Mark proposed to get started on that 'Lilith' body painting. Seriously, having a snake pattern painted on your naked mimsy with a soft brush is a sweet torture you can't even begin to imagine if you haven't experienced it yourself. I came like a freight train two times just while Mark tried to paint the bit that would obscure my pussy.

When we were done he tortured me some more by letting me stew in my arousal until he had erected all of his photography equipment. By the time all the photos were taken I was out of my mind and knocked him over with a growl. Lydia sucked him to 'hoist the flag'. Once he was hard enough I mounted him and plundered my own pussy so hard it made Tilly's sack of Magdeburg look like a lover's quarrel. Well, I stole that line from Lydia.

#### Mark

Jeez, Meri had gone completely medieval on me the day before. Granted, the elaborate pattern of snake-skin and a fine brush on a naked pussy that was bound to end up in tears or in a desperate shag in the skip. It turned out to be the latter and I doubted she'd be walking anything close to normal after she'd rammed my cock into her pussy as if it was her last chance.

I was still lying on the couch reminiscing on the events of the day before when I heard shuffling of feet on top of the stairs and I gasped.

Mom carefully felt her way along the guardrail, blindfolded. But that wasn't all. She had donned the hair circlet with the fake pony ears and the butt-plug with the faux pony-tail was stuck in her ass. Apart from that she wore thigh-highs, a garter belt and nothing else. Play Time!

"I'm over here mom," I alerted her to my position and I could see her mumbling as she walked towards me with surprising confidence. Then I realized – she was counting steps. She bumped slightly into the coffee table, one of the steps had apparently been a bit too long, but feeling her way around she finally found me and immediately went to check my equipment. When her searching fingers found me sufficiently hard, she wasted no time and mounted me on the spot. When had she learned to shove me in just like that?

Mom was riding me, her hands behind her neck. I felt the cone of her butt-plug rub against the underside of my cock.

"Mom, today is Friday. John and Rhonda will drop by."

"I know, once you've made mommy cum, I'll change into something more neutral," she explained amid progressively more labored breaths. "It was a test if I've learned the house good enough"

"You just ran into the table," I said with a chuckle and started to play with mom's boobs, realizing I hadn't done that for quite a while.

"Need ... more ... practice... ," Mom said and soon all she needed was more cock.

"Aw, shucks, too late," I heard from the background, seeing Meri stand at the top of the stairs. Well, competitive as she was, mom groaned in triumph and came noisily. But without a squirt again and her face couldn't quite hide her slight disappointment.

#### John

I guessed this topless business must be pretty much a constant between the three of them. There was no other way Mark could have that much self-control. Rhonda and I had been at our residence for half an hour and I'd been pretty much hard the whole time, while Mark showed no signs of excitement, even when Rhonda had chucked her shirt. My sister loved it of course. Hell, her knack for nudism was the reason why I had bought such a secluded estate in the first place.

Well, it didn't exactly come as a surprise that Lydia was spectacularly beautiful. I'd seen her PLAYBOY pictures and I'd seen her run naked in Utrecht, but witnessing her beauty in person was something else. I could tell that even Rhonda was quite impressed.

I sat next to my sister as Mark steered the boat out into the bay, about a mile off the beach. Once we were far from the house, he retarded the throttle and the boat came almost to a halt. He secured the rudder before sitting down with us, handing out beer bottles.

"John, Rhonda, you've become good friends and there's something personal I want to talk to you about. That's why I took you out here. You don't have to answer my next question, but it would be a great help if you did. Are the two of you swingers?"

I could see Rhonda's jaw hit the deck. How had he found out? However, he'd done it, denying would serve no purpose and I had a faint idea where this talk was going.

"We are Mark. May I ask how you found that out?"

He smiled somewhat wistfully.

"I read a lot, life-style magazines, books, everything. After Barcelona, when Rhonda helped me with my hangover, she told me something about how you can love more than one person, but can only be in love with one. That reminded me of an article I've read about swinger culture and the psychological implications."

"Lydia is right, you ARE a brainiac," Rhonda said and I had to chuckle too.

"Are you interested in becoming swingers, too?" I asked.

"We're trying to find that out," Mark replied. "Those three weeks here are all about finding our sexual identity. Mom has already admitted she's curious about doing it with other men, and frankly I wouldn't be scared by the prospect of doing it with other women."

"That's why they got over Barcelona so easily, isn't it?"

Mark answered Rhonda's question with a nod.

"John, there's a very specific request from mom. If you're uncomfortable with what I'm about to tell you, just say so and I never asked."

I nodded.

"Mom found out she's really into anal sex and Meri has done her a few times with a strap-on, but she wants to have a real one up there, so she wonders if you would..."

He trailed off and I could see Rhonda's eyes light up. Her voice was soft and I could see the desire in her eyes.

"Mark, there's only one possible reason why she wouldn't ask you to do it," Rhonda said, her voice slightly husky. "Just how big are you?"

I could see him blush.

"Meri measured it in Montreal. 8 3/8 in length, girth 6."

"Deal!" Rhonda cried out in excitement and I had to chuckle. Poor Mark didn't really understand a thing.

"Rhonda likes it in the rear, too," I explained. "And she's able to take you, and quite excited by the prospect as you might have noticed."

Mark blushed a little more and I could see Rhonda undress him with her eyes already. Blushing guys, that was the big thing for her, she couldn't resist them.

"So you would ... with mom... ?" Mark asked, insecurity radiating off his stance. He seemed very confused and every swinger will tell you, you don't start fooling around with people, who are confused or insecure.

"Let's go back," I said. "This is a talk that should include your mother."

#### Mark

Jeez. I had planned to 'be a man' about it, but in the end I had regressed to a stuttering teenager. Rhonda ogling me with unveiled lust hadn't exactly helped. Granted, the prospect of getting to feel what it is like to be in a woman's ass was tempting, but John looked sort of concerned.

Well, I could understand that. I had just asked him to fuck my mom's ass and his wife and sister was apparently quite eager to have the same courtesy returned. You don't really play with something like your relationships. Since John and Rhonda had admitted to being swingers, they were used to juggling a steady relationship and casual sex with outside parties. I decided to rely on their wisdom in this case.

Once back on shore we called mom and the four of us were sitting in the deck chairs. John and I drank beer, Mom and Rhonda went for wine. The rosy cheeks of mom told me that she and Meri had probably already had a glass or two already to calm her nerves.

"Lydia, Mark talked to us about your ... um ... request."

I could see a massive blush creep up mom's face.

"First of all, and that question goes to both of you, are you really prepared to see your partner having sex with someone else?"

Johns question was dead serious. His face expression left no doubt about that.

I nodded first and mom did the same.

"Rhonda and I have a simple rule. No secrets," John explained. "That means if we are going to switch partners we are going to do it together in the same room or out here."

I could see mom flinch momentarily, but she nodded her acceptance of John's conditions.

"There's something else," John continued. "Lydia, the moment we get physically involved with each other, I can no longer be your manager. Our friendship was already stretching it as far as conflict of interests goes. I will need to pass the mandate to my junior partner Mike Snidell. I will still advise him, but I can no longer be your contractual partner."

"Is he as good as you?"

"I trained him myself," John said. "You would be in capable hands. I wouldn't suggest him if he wasn't up to my standards. I merely want you to think about what a big step you're making."

Mom nodded again.

"John, what about Meri?" I asked.

"I will be her manager," he said "If she had any intentions towards me she will be disappointed."

"She hasn't," Meri said, joining us. "John, this is about Lydia and Mark. I'm an outside party in that."

John chuckled. "Good, then we are settled."

He looked at us again.

"Mark, Lydia; Rhonda and I are willing to help you find out if swinging is your thing. But I want you both to sleep over it. It is not something that should be decided lightly. You will have to share your partner with someone else and you will have to watch it. We've seen couples wreck their marriage because they thought they could handle it. If you are still determined to do it tomorrow, we will, but you will have sole responsibility for what happens to your relationship."

#### Lydia

John's warning was constantly with me. Was I really prepared to risk my relationship with Mark for the thrill of having a real, live cock in my ass? I knew Mark would accept any decision I would make and if Rhonda's looks were anything to go by, my sweetheart would be in good hands, too.

She had promised she'd be able to take him and even offered to teach me how to prepare myself for accepting his large organ. I wanted nothing more than being able to offer my tight rear-end to my sweetheart. But there was also the dream to be used by other men. What I really wanted was being fucked to the point of unconsciousness by men who would just thrust into me, unload their spunk and forget about me – I wanted to be gangbanged. God, why was I so weird and perverted?

"Tell me."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, startled by Mark's dry command. Considering that it was two in the night, I had expected him to be asleep, which was obviously not the case.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Mom, there's something on your mind. You've already made your decision to fuck John. That isn't even a debate and if you had any problems with me boning Rhonda you would have given her the death stare, like you did with that bimbo in the sex shop in Montreal. It's only a start isn't it?"

I couldn't answer him, tears welling up in shame over my own perverted thoughts.

"Mom, do you want to try a gangbang?"

I gasped. Dammit, was that boy able to read my mind? Somehow his looking right through me annoyed me and I decided I might just as well give a straight answer.

"Yes Mark, I want to be gangbanged. Are you happy now?"

"Hopefully you will be, after you've tried it," he replied dryly.

I spun around, looking at his face in the pale moonlight.

"Mark, how can you be so accepting of such a depravity? You've waited years to make love to me and now you just accept a dozen men fucking me?"

He didn't miss a beat.

"You've said it yourself mom. You will fuck them. You will fuck John. But you never said you want to fuck me. We make love. That's a completely different business."

"What do we do then?" I asked.

"Simple," Mark said. "Tomorrow John will fuck your ass and I'll gold-plate Rhonda's rear-end. In the evening Meri and I will make slow gentle love to you until you finally understand the difference, and when we're back in Pasadena I'll organize a gangbang for you."

"You can't even take part," mom reminded me. "People would find out about us."

"No I can't," I agreed. "But I will watch it and Meri will have to blow me so often for relief, she'll look like a bloated goat the next morning."

Mom chuckled and we snuggled up to each other. Soon sleep finally took us to the night.


	12. Chapter 12

#### Mark

I was up early and did something I'd never done before. I was drinking beer right after getting out of bed. Somehow the thought of mom getting fucked by another man was strangely unsettling, because she would do so without me being involved in some way. I still remembered how badly those 'fake boyfriends' had affected me, and this time there would be a lot more than an innocent hug involved.

Intellectually I had absolutely no problem with it. John was a good friend and just as concerned about mom's well-being as I was, but the fact remained that just a few weeks ago I had nearly killed myself at the thought that two men were going to fuck mom and Meri. Was I really prepared to allow that final step to happen? Would my wish, to give mom the chance to try what she wanted to, be stronger than my jealousy? I knew it probably wouldn't be and I was gutted about it. The dread grew more and more as the time progressed.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Rhonda, obviously an early riser, too. She wore a sheer bathrobe, her dark nipples shining through, even in the sparse morning light. She cocked her eyebrow at me when she saw what I was drinking.

"Someone's very nervous," she noted and casually shrugged off her robe. Completely naked, as I was too, she commandeered a nearby deck chair. "Mark, if you're so afraid that you need to drink at 06:30am, you shouldn't do it."

I pretended to think about it. But instead I ogled her quite unashamedly to evade an answer. I'd seen her boobs the night and the weekend before. But then she'd always worn a bikini bottom and a Pareo. Now I had an unobstructed view on her wide, curvy hips. Unlike mom, who was slender in the strictest sense of the word and looked at least half a decade younger than she was. Rhonda's body didn't hide that she'd been around for almost four decades - but in a good way.

Her naked pussy was slightly gaping open, flashing the dark pink of her inner folds. Her boobs were sagging a bit, but that was normal, considering they were even bigger than Meri's and she had a cute love handle. All in all, a woman that had always taken care of herself, but not gone to extremes like becoming an Olympic champion to fight the ageing process. Rhonda's whole demeanour and grace created the aura of a woman who was truly comfortable with an in her body.

"Like what you see?" she asked me with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

"Very," I replied dryly. "To answer your implied question, Rhonda. I've got no problem to let John take care of mom's itch. It's not like I get nothing in return. I'm just concerned if I can control my nerves. I've got a history of overreacting as you know. That's why I'm trying to calm my nerves. I could do what without beer, but why? We are completely alone out here. And in addition to enjoying the privilege of getting into your jucy rear, I decided I wanna get smashed today. Mom and Lydia have done that a couple times and I ended up being the one to get them into bed. You haven't seen real wrestling, until you've tried to get my mom up a flight of stairs when she's completely wasted out of her skull, naked, blindfolded and horny like you wouldn't believe."

It was all a fat lie, but it sounded good.

Rhonda threw her head back and laughed. "So you have decided to return the favor for once?"

"You're damn right," I declared with a fake chuckle and saw mom stagger out of the house. Like always when she woke up way before her time she was barely conscious and her communication skills were barely above those of a cave-woman. Her hair was completely tussled sticking out in all possible and impossible directions. She was carrying a large mug of coffee.

"Hold that, will ya?" she grunted and handed me her cup. Squatting down next to my chair she grabbed my cock and gulped it down. Rhonda looked ready to burst from laughter, as mom gave a pretty good impression of someone barely aware of what she was doing. And the thing is I didn't know yet if it was an act. Mom was sucking me lazily grunting like someone from forty thousand years ago, once in a while scratching her pussy for added effect.

John came out of the house and grinned like the village idiot seeing mom administer a sleep-drunk blowjob. He stood nearby with a coffee and watched the proceedings, highly amused. Mom still didn't look like being awake much. Suddenly she stopped, with me not even halfway there, and waddled over to John on her knees. She yanked his Bermuda's down and went to work on him. The sheer feeling of frustration was heart-wrenching. Mom had abandoned me yet again and she hadn't even asked John, Ronda or me, if we were okay with it.

Rhonda's mirth was gone in an instance, and John looked like he didn't know whether to stop it or go on. He could hardly believe what was happening. By the cross-eyed look he had, it appeared that cave-mom had at least not lost her technique, but her sensibilities had certainly not evolved yet.

"May I finish what you started?" Rhonda asked and there was a very sharp edge to her voice. Mom seemed completely oblivious to it.

"Only mouth or pussy, ass later," mom grunted, vaguely resembling the English language, and went on to wreck Johns peripheral vision. Rhonda looked at me, rubbing herself more professionally than lustfully to get the lubrication running.

"May I, kind sir?" she asked, curtseying in front of me.

"I'd like that very much as my previous partner has left me hanging," replied with a lot of sarcasm in my voice, while Rhonda impaled herself on my tool. Mom acknowledged my accusation with something resembling "ugh, ugh". Her act became old and very misplaced. Both Rhonda and John looked ready to throttle her. That's when it dawned on me. This could be the day when it all ended, mom had changed the rules of the game on me and I would quit if it stayed like that. My whole world started to collapse.

"Jeez, I might have been a bit optimistic that I can take you," Rhonda groaned as she sank down in my lap. "I might need a butt-plug to prepare myself."

"Oh don't worry, fair Lady Rhonda, we have an eclectic selection of those. Would you prefer one with or without a pony-tail," I cooed with fake glee.

Rhonda snorted as she started to ride me, and mom got a bit possessive. "The pony-tail is mine."

That alerted us that she had obviously achieved lucidity, or more likely, this whole shebang had been an act. Aha, so mom reacted only when something was taken from her. That she was in the middle of wrecking our relationship didn't compute for her.

"I'll gladly make do with a plain one," Rhonda challenged her, trying to hide her annoyance. "But only if you put the ponytail in while you're training."

"Deal," mom groaned, obviously quite smitten with the idea.

I was only just starting to play with Rhonda's wildly bouncing tits, when her surprisingly tight pussy caused the familiar tingling in my loins.

"Getting close!" I pressed through gritted teeth, trying to delay the inevitable. Rhonda dismounted and took me in her mouth and I emptied myself down her gullet.

"Sorry, Rhonda," I said, embarrassed that I hadn't able to make her cum.

"You were already halfway there," she excused my short-lived performance and gave me a peck on my cheek. I had been so busy with my embarrassment that I had missed that mom had already finished milking John and was already cleaning him up. He wasn't pleased in the least and the looks he exchanged with Rhonda were full of pity and anger.

I only cared about where to find the next beer. My love to mom was strained to breaking point and I wanted to forget about it.

#### Lydia

God, that had felt naughty to blow another man with Mark fucking another woman nearby. I had expected to be a bit miffed seeing another woman gorging on the beautiful cock of my darling son, but in reality it had been so hot I was drenched even though John hadn't done as much as even touching me.

Somehow it reminded me of the difference between a competitive race and a training. Making love with Mark was the race. I wanted to give everything, wanted it to be an experience he never forgets. I wanted to be completely spent at the end of it, knowing I had done my very best.

Sex with John was training. I still wanted to perform, but would never work as hard to please him. It could be a warm-up for the real bout with Mark or a casual run just for the fun of it. I got the feeling we could give this swinger life a try. Too bad our options were limited as we couldn't give our identities away, so the only realistic partners for the time being were John and Rhonda.

But it all went pear-shaped over the next few hours. I stood up to my challenge with Rhonda and trained stark naked with the ponytail butt-plug in my rear for three hours. In fact, I also wore the fake ears and Meri made some hilarious photos - lame pun alert - with me running along at full gallop, the tail flying almost vertical behind me.

The only one, who didn't laugh was Mark. He smiled at me, but it was forced. It was like: 'See, I smiled, may I go now?'

Well, he actually did go - about fifteen minutes before we had planned to do the partner switch, fifteen minutes before I would have a real cock in my ass instead of a ponytail or Meri's strap-on. Mark just stood, mumbled something I couldn't quite understand and staggered haphazardly back to the house. He didn't come back.

"Lydia, lie down on your stomach, I'll help you get that thing out of your ass. It ain't happening and it was never going to. John won't have sex with you."

I sent Rhonda a questioning look, but first I followed her advice and under no small amount of paint, I endured the butt-plug-ectomy.

"John, maybe this is a good time you and Meri sat down and finalized the details of her contract. Oh and ask her to bring us a bottle of wine in a cooler, please? Lydia and I are going to need some time."

John just nodded and walked off. He sent me a look that oozed the 'I told you so' vibe.

"Right now, you are one butt fuck away from losing Mark," Rhonda said with a stern look. "I'll spell out a few truths to you that will utterly hurt you, but you need to hear them, because if you don't, you'll be buying some rope on the day the boy marries, and trust me, it won't be you walking down the aisle with him. You all but wrecked that possibility in Barcelona anyway."

I just looked at her thunderstruck.

"Lydia, ever since we found the sweetheart half-dead in a road-side ditch, I've been keeping an eye on the dynamic of your relationship. There's no other way to say this, but you've forced your will on the boy without even giving a flying hoot about his wishes and feelings. To stay with the sexual theme, you've been force-feeding him cock, whether he's bisexual or not."

I could feel red-hot tears well up in my eyes. How could she say such nasty things? What had I done to deserve that?

"How can you say that?" I asked, deeply hurt, and Meri sent me a worried look as she heard my quivering voice when she walked back into the house. "All we'd done was following his wishes. It was Mark who suggested we experiment with shit. Hell, he even pushed us when we were reluctant to."

"That's right, but you never questioned his motives, did you? This whole idea of going here to experiment with new ideas was just his way to justify a choice he had not been given in the first place. He learned of the fact that you and Meri had already started to experiment in Barcelona, from a tape. He loves Meri, but he doesn't want her in a three-way relationship. He accepted her in because he's afraid he could end up being the losing party in a choice, a choice you make between Meri and him. After all, with Meri you wouldn't have all the problems that incestuous love brings with it.

"With Meri you could go out to the park, kiss, hug. He can't, and he's afraid of losing you. That's why he goes overboard to accommodate your wishes. Meri finally understands that, or has it escaped your attention that she stayed inside all day? She asked us last night to take her with us when we return to Pasadena on Sunday. Mark has no problem letting her into your sex life once in a while, but he wants to be there and for the rest of the time, when you're not doing the nasty, he wants your undivided attention. Leaving him out of things is what hurts him."

I slapped my forehead. Shit, that's why he had insisted that I go come with them when he made love to Meri. My hands buried in my palms I thought about a fitting response.

"Meri told me about your 'sex show' the first evening," Rhonda lectured me further. "If you think about it, it should be clear as day. I bet the boy was already cross-eyed when you popped Meri's cherry, but despite the fact that you had both told him, he can ram it in your throat at all times, he waited until SOMEONE ELSE had YOU. He needed to reassure himself that he still belonged in there. He wanted to be part of it when you were pleasured by someone else. He's willing to share you with others if that's what you want, but he's not willing to give you away and be left outside the door like a dog in front of the supermarket."

The puzzle started to make sense, but I felt I was still a few pieces short.

"Remember this morning?" Rhonda ask and gave the answer herself. "First of all, you just abandoned him mid-blowjob and went on to blow John. You probably still don't get how much you've hurt him with that little stunt. It never occurred to you to ask either Mark or me for permission. In a proper swinger club, you'd be stripped of membership on the spot. Had John made any move to fuck you, like I did with Mark, Mark would have kicked me off to go over and fed you his cock, so he would be part of it, when someone else pleasures you. It's obvious that you are very adventurous and curious about sexual ideas, and trust me, he would let a hundred men gangbang the stuffing out of your every hole until you reeked of cum for weeks, as long as he's one of them. He will gladly allow you to have sex with outside parties, but you'll have to accept that it will always be at least a threesome."

"We actually talked about that, the gangbang, I mean," I admitted, feeling a strong blush on my face and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "Now I understand his reaction. He just said he'll organize a gangbang for me. He already didn't care because he knew our relationship wouldn't even make it past the partner swap."

"Yes," Rhonda said softly. "He drank since 6am, desperate with any hour closer to it, realizing that his denial was no longer cutting it. I could have stopped him, but he needed to run into his limits to realize that he can't always give only. Speaking of gangbangs. Have you ever seen a real one?"

I shook my head.

"It is wild. It starts out with guys pounding your pussy and feeding you one cock after the other. Soon the first one will take your ass and later you'll be dp'ed endlessly, and unless the guys are completely useless, you'll fall into a phase where you orgasm almost constantly, dozens of times, I've seen a woman go through 85 continuous orgasms for 40 minutes, until she passed out."

Damn, my pussy started weeping just listening to that. "Have you ever done one?"

Rhonda nodded. "Dozens, one about every three months. If you're ready for it, it's the greatest trip you can go on, but it comes with a great hangover and you'll need a very special partner to make it a good experience."

"How is it, apart from orgasming permanently, which sounds fascinating already."

"Much of it I know only through Jon. I fall into a delirious state, completely stoned on dopamine and adrenaline, when the multi-orgasms start. But that's where the need for a great partner comes in. All I can remember from that phase is being in a dream-world, feeling the greatest contentment and happiness, but I register nothing of what happens to me. Guys pull out of my ass and feed me their cock right away and I happily suck them. You are completely and helplessly at the mercy of the guys."

"So you need one to watch out for you," I stated the obvious.

"John usually sits at my side, holding my hand through the whole experience. But his real job starts when I pass out. You have to keep in mind that in a real gangbag with thirty or so guys, you'll take a hundred loads and more. Spunk will ooze from every orifice, be all over you, you'll stink like something they deny entry to hell. John hoses me down, cleans me, washes out my pussy, ass and mouth. Then he'll rub ointment into my abused pussy and ass all night, massages my wrecked muscles."

"That's any chance for me gone then. I would believe Mark would do all that for me, but there's no way he can take part without people finding out who he is."

"Lydia, you are nowhere near ready to try something like that. You are letting your impatience and competitiveness get the better of you. You didn't start out as a marathon runner, did you? You started over shorter distances."

I had to think about that one a bit and although we'd strayed from the original topic a bit, it made me realize how much I needed Mark. But right now he wouldn't hose down my abused body after a gangbang. At that very moment he was wondering if it wasn't better for him to leave me.

"Thanks, Rhonda. You were right. I needed to hear all that. Think I can still salvage the situation?"

"Lydia, go upstairs. I'm pretty sure the boy is bawling his eyes out at the moment. Lie down and hold him, reassure him. We'll continue this talk talk when you're both better. I have to speak to John and Meri in between anyway. Ask them to come out here please, will you?"

#### Rhonda

John and Meri came out and I could see the girl's bloodshot eyes.

"God it was so hard not to go up and hold him. Hearing him cry so badly. Damn, it broke my heart," she wailed and succumbed to tears again. "John, you asshole, you should have let me go up there. How can you be so cold?"

I hugged her close, rubbing her back. John would have to endure the involuntary typecasting as the bad cop, until I had calmed her down.

"It was imperative that Lydia went up there. She's got a lot of fence-mending to do. Mark is perilously close to breaking off their relationship," I explained to her. My words hit her like the business end of a truck and Meri looked at me in abject horror. "Am I the reason?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"One, but by far not the major one," I answered. "Meri, they both love you, and they both want you in their bed occasionally. What Lydia doesn't understand is, it always has to be both of them or their relationship suffers."

She seemed to understand and nodded, relief very obvious on her face.

"How do you feel about them?" I asked. "Why are you so drawn to them?"

"I'm using them," she said, bitter self-reproach lacing her voice. "They rebuilt my confidence. When USATF raked me over the coals for the Playboy shooting, Lydia stripped buck naked in front of millions of viewers to get me out of the line of fire. Without Mark talking me into that silly boob-wiggle after my disastrous long-jump, I would never have come home with two medals."

I nodded, knowing she was close to the all-important insight.

"They've put me back on my feet twice, I love them so much, but at one point my confidence will be back and then I'll meet someone. And then I'll just leave them. I'll have used them and then thrown them away."

"That's why three-way relationships don't work, honey," John chipped in. "The three of you love each other, you need each other, but for different reasons you rub each other raw if you try to be more than very good friends with very generous benefits. Will you help us clean up this mess?"

She nodded eagerly.

"John, I think we should introduce Lydia and Mark to Andy Rütli. If there's one person in the world, who can cater for Lydia's abundance of experimentation drive and curiosity, it's him."

"Wouldn't work, Rhonda," John said. "Mark would never accept having Lydia humiliated like that. He's fiercely protective of her dignity."

"Who is this Andy Rut ... Rutt ... this Andy guy?" Meri asked.

"It's a business partner of mine, we run ... aw shit, let's call it by the name ... We run a series of sex holiday resorts that cater to some of the most unreal sexual fantasies and Andy has a history of rejuvenating the love-lives of some of the most outrageously contrasting couples. Think of a catholic bishop and an extremely kinky dominatrix – along these lines."

Meri giggled. "But aren't catholic bishops supposed to be celibate?"

"There are no taboos for Andy. Okay there are some – you can't check in with your dog – but Mother and son? That's not even worth a cocked eyebrow."

"And why wouldn't it work?" Meri asked back. "Why would Lydia be humiliated?"

"Andy is an extreme Amaurophilia Devotee, that's people getting aroused by blind or blindfolded partners. Every female checking in, will have her eyes taped shut for the entire stay. Every single bit of the various resorts is built to cater for blind people, because none of the females are allowed to see between entering and exiting the complex."

Suddenly Meri laughed out loud. "Oh that would be fucking perfect for them? What is the name for someone who's aroused by being blind?"

We both looked at her, not quite knowing what to make of this. "That would be an Amaurophilia Pretender," John said.

"Lydia gets extremely turned on by blindfolding herself and trying to cope as best she can," Meri explained. "Heck, she can cook meals completely blind and when she's done, her pussy juice runs down her thighs like the friggin' Amazonas. On Wednesday she cooked some German dish I can't even pronounce, all while being blindfolded. By the end of it I wanted to check how wet she is and she came like a freight train after the slightest touch. She even learns Braille."

I looked at John. "Call Andy."

"Calm down everybody," John backpedaled. "First the two of them need to re-establish the equilibrium of their relationship and Lydia has to finish her season. There's the hugely emotional run in her home town. We'll talk about that in October."

#### Meri

I found them on the bed, asleep in a tight embrace. It was obvious they had both cried – a lot. I was pretty sure those three weeks here would end up being only two and all of us would return on Sunday. What Mark and Lydia needed was some time alone. They needed to cool down the overcooking passion of the last few days.

Lydia's bloodshot eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, with a pleading expression and indicated me to lie down on the other side of Mark. I hesitated a moment, but then I did it. I knew it would be the last time for a long while, if not forever that I would sleep and wake up, held by his soft and yet so strong arms.

#### John

It was really none of mine or Rhonda's business to involve ourselves in the lives of Mark and Lydia, but there was nobody else who could help them due to the nature of their relationship. And there are certainly precious few, who understand the depth of the love between them. Andy Rütli, however, had riddled them out in just two months and started working on plans how to help them.

Right after the return from St. Kitts and Nevis, the situation between Lydia, Mark and Meri was tense. I could see all three of them were hurting, but it was a phase they had to go through. Unfortunately they hadn't quite come out of their funk by the time the London marathon was on and Lydia finished a disappointing fourth. She did however win the race in her hometown. I went on an all-day fishing trip with Mark and learned that they had finally worked out a solution they could all live with.

#### Mark

It was great to be together again. Over the last two months Meri had made her peace with the 'demotion' to best friend with gracious benefits. For quite some time she had completely shut herself off, but that did only make all of us hurt even more. Gently we started rebuilding the bond of friendship that we had, before deluding ourselves that we could live in a three-way relationship.

The relationship with mom slowly returned to it's healthy self even though it had been so close to breaking point. But mom was no longer mom, in a way. Shocked about how her adventurous nature had nearly destroyed everything, she became almost frigid. No more running around naked or blind cooking or morning quickies. And she was utterly useless at hiding from us, how badly she was affected by suppressing her desires like that. When I asked her about it, she said that if she would allow her adventurous nature and competitiveness free reign, it would bring us to the point again that I would be hurting over it and told me that she decided to keep her amorous endeavours to things that would be perfectly fine for both of us.

But that wasn't my mom anymore. She still didn't believe what John had said. She could try almost anything as long as she let me be part of it. That Saturday on St. Kitts and Nevis had been such a scare for her, she was almost afraid to suggest just about anything new. So in good old Karrass tradition, I planned a practical demonstration when mom was too obstinate. And I had a partner in crime - Meri, who wanted to give up her self-imposed celibate life she'd lived during the time she'd taken to get comfortable with the new status quo in regards to mom and me. My dear mother was in for a hefty surprise.

But the perfect crime has to be planned. We had stayed in Magdeburg after Mom's emotional win in our old home town. Even my great grandfather had come out of his retirement home to stand in front of the old house we grew up in. Meri and I had both been in tears, moved by her abandoning the lead of the race to run over and hug and kiss him. The reaction of the field was just as great, nobody used that moment to score a cheap win. They continued in a very leisurely trot and only upped the tempo again when mom had caught up. She was still weeping with emotion when she crossed the finish line first 5 kilometers later, waiting in the finish area to greet everyone who came in with a hug.

She'd been definitely better and while mom was in the city, visiting some old friends she hadn't seen since 1984, Meri and I raided the offerings of a local sex shop. The one thing we'd hoped for was a spare dildo set for the strap-on and we found the deluxe set we'd hoped for - eight different rubber dongs ranging from the 'meh' at 5 inches and 3.5 inch girth to the 'donkey' at a frightening 12 inches with 7 inch girth. Then we bought a few other accessories and on the way back a nice port wine. At 20 percent that stuff packed quite a punch, at least as far as mom and Meri were concerned. I could hold a bit more of it, but even I was a bit buzzed when we had finished the small bottle. Mom and Meri were all giggles, their faces flushed and a straight line was a bit too tricky for their gait, especially for mom, since Meri and I had blindfolded her to start the production of lubricant. It would be needed as mom would be stretched to the limit.

"Mom, today you'll get your first real cock in your fine little ass," I declared and mom oooo'ed her appreciation until her wine-addled brain had done the maths on just how many there were to choose from - then she gasped.

"And to make sure that you don't fart out of your pussy when I compress the air in your bowels, we'll make sure that your pussy is really, really tightly plugged at the time."

Meri was laughing hysterically about the pussy joke, but mom gasped even louder when she realized what we had in mind. "I'll belch," she quipped to gloss over her nervousness.

"Mom, from here on the safe-word is in place, understood? Tell us the safe-word," I stated, serious enough for her to understand that this was no game.

"Uncle."

"Stand up mom."

She stood and swayed slightly from the alcohol.

"Meri, would you make sure that mom is properly decorated - light pressure only."

With a grin Meri took a vibrator and switched it on, she circled mom's nipples with it and the soft nubs stretched out to a new personal best in their size, as mom's legs twisted into an X, like a schoolgirl that's got to take a pee really urgently. Once the two nipples were proudly standing in the wind and mom was mewling like I'd not heard before, Meri put the nipple clamps on and the silver chain between them swayed back and forth with every of mom's labored breaths and her squeals of surprise.

"Does it hurt?" I asked with concern.

"It hurts a bit, but it's good pain," she said. "God this is..., OH MY GOD..."

Meri looked over mom's shoulder and grinned at me while she clicked the fuzzy handcuffs shut behind mom's back. I didn't need to check if she was wet, the whole room smelled of her her juices. While Meri started to screw the small 5'/3.5' dildo onto the strap-on, it was time to tell mom what's what.

"Mom, before we come to the main act, we'll have you do some training. A marathon is forty-two point one-nine-five kilometers. You will now fuck yourself on Meri's strap-on for the same number of minutes - exactly forty-two minutes and 12 seconds. Every five minutes you'll have a short break of a few seconds, while Meri and I replace the dildo with something bigger, so don't be too cocky when the first two are a bit on the miserly side. Trust me, your competitive nature will love the challenge you come across at minute thirty-five and since this is then the final sprint, you'll have to fuck that behemoth for seven minutes and eleven seconds."

"Oh my god, I'm almost cumming from listening to you," she giggled. Meri giggled with her as she pushed the 'inward dong' in her snatch and started to fasten the straps around her hips.

"Anything you need, mom?"

"I'll definitely need water, every second break. The alcohol draws water and I need to stay hydrated."

"I'll give you the water whenever you request it," I promised. "Oh, mom there are two more rules. Meri will lie on her back and you'll have to squat down to drive it into your pussy. You can dictate the speed yourself. However, no other part of your body beside the soles of your feet is to touch the bed. If you fall over, we'll increase the pressure on the nipple clamps. Should you make it to the highest setting and fall over again, you'll get a 5 hit spanking for every further infringement, understood?"

"Yes," mom said and I could see a mixture of fear, nervousness, but also utter excitement on her face. Meri meanwhile had taken position, lying on her back with the dildo of the strap-on sticking straight up. Meri and I helped mom adjust her position, so that she was squatting down, the tip of the smallest one of the screw-on dildos resting at her wet opening.

"Let the inaugural Sex Olympics commence," I announced. "Mom: Ready, Set, Go!"


End file.
